Charming Little Moments
by wanderinggypsyfeet
Summary: Bits and pieces of the story not shown onscreen. Moments and times from the Sons and residents of Charming, exploring their thoughts. Series of one-shots, episode by episode.
1. Season 1- Pilot

**AN:** So my plan is to little one-shots based off of each episode. They might be moments within the episode, before or after, whatever inspires me in that moment. I plan on having two stories per episode (maybe more, we'll see). This will be updated once a week, likely on a Saturday, but forgive me if I fall behind, since First Son, Cursed Son is my priority. Thank you!

* * *

Episode 1: Pilot

 _Tara mets Jax's Son_

She's running, running down a stretch of road that is never ending, as the world behind her drops out from beneath her. She has to keep running or she's going to fall right off the edge of the Earth and she'll die. Her legs are heavy and she can't breathe and she's getting slower and slower, the edge is getting closer and closer. She wonders if she just stopped running, what would happen. How bad can it hurt to die anyways?

"Tara." Someone says loudly, touching her shoulder and she startles awake. She's not running, she's cramped in an uncomfortable hospital bed, taking advantage of her hour-long break to get some much-needed sleep.

"What?" She asks, looking up at the nurse who's eyeing her with what looks like pity and worry.

"We need you in surgery right now." She says and Tara sits up, rubbing her eyes, trying to clear the haze of the dream from her mind.

"What's wrong?" She asks, stretching and cracking her neck, then hopping off the bed and following the nurse.

"We have a mom who came in. Meth addict by the looks of it, they're running a tox screen right now so we should know soon, but she just delivered a baby. A little boy." The nurse says and Tara picks up her pace. She's seen plenty of mothers come in with drug problems and what damage they do to an infants tiny body since she's moved back to Charming.

"What are we looking at?" Tara asks briskly, rounding a corner. The nurse is jogging slightly to keep up.

"Well, he's premature." The nurse says and Tara looks at her in disbelief.

"Well with an meth addicted mother, I assumed that. How early?" She demands, pulling her hair back once more.

"He's 30 weeks." The nurse reveals. "He's got a tear in his abdomen, he's addicted to meth, and…" She hesitates and Tara stops, stopping her as well.

"What about this case aren't you telling me?" She asks bluntly.

"He has a heart defect." The nurse states and Tara can't help that an image of Jax flashes in her mind but she hastily pushes it away, trying to remain professional. She nods and turns to walk into the NICU before the nurse catches her arm. Tara turns, raising an eyebrow.

"Every moment I'm not with that baby, his chances of surviving drop, so would you please tell me, why I'm not in there!" She says heatedly and the nurse opens and closes her mouth before sighing.

"Tara, his mother is Wendy Case." She says and Tara furrows her eyebrows, not sure what this has to do with her saving the baby's life. "And his father… It's Jackson Teller's son."

The reaction is instantaneous. Tara grabs onto a crash cart and hangs on tight. Her legs are no longer beneath her. They've disappeared somewhere else. She can't focus on anything. There's a funny buzzing in her ears, but it's not loud enough to drown out the soundtrack of her youth.

"Darlin'…" Jax would drawl, a confident smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he watched her. "I'm just sayin', I want a big family."

"I don't!" She had responded, laughing, squirming out of reach and staring balefully at him.

"C'mon, don't tell me you haven't thought about it." He would suggest and she would always laugh and shake her head.

"You don't want kids now anyways." She had pointed out and that would make him shrug.

"I know I want them with you though, Tara." That had always been his answer, no matter where the conversation had gone.

Jax Teller has a son and it is not hers. She could never have asked him to not fall in love again. She knew Jax Teller as a 16 year old and she knows men like him don't change. But she never thought she would be in the NICU, prepping to go save his son's life.

"Tara, you can't be in here." A loud voice says, drawing her back to the hospital. She blinks and a serious man with silver hair and deep wrinkles is looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"George." She says instantly.

"I know who he is and I know who his father is to you." The elder doctor says firmly and Tara grimaces at the memories of being the infamous girlfriend of the infamous prince.

"I can help." She insists. "You know my track record on cases like this. I want to work on him. I want to help save him. He's just another life to me, just another case. I'm requesting that I be put on Baby Teller's case." She says loudly and he sighs deeply, scratching his forehead.

"Fine." He allows. "You're on the case, but at the first sign that I see it's getting personal, you're off. I don't think there's anything we can do now, just monitor and see if he gets strong enough for us to go in and repair his stomach. You can go in and see him, then I want you to attend the mother." He orders and she nods. He leaves and she takes a moment to compose herself then slides into the room where the baby is.

She physically gasps at the sight of him. He is tiny. She is no stranger to small babies. In her time at Chicago and now here, she has seen plenty of cases where they're even smaller than he is. But this baby… She stares down at him in horror and amazement.

She wonders if he'll have Jax's eyes. Or his nose. He has his father's creamy skin, though she can hardly see any of it from the covering of tubes and wires. She watches sadly as his chest rises and falls with great difficulty. He has his father's heart.

She can't help but switch into doctor mode, monitoring his vitals and looking at his chart. It is not a pretty affair. Her mind automatically begins to compare this case with the many that she has dealt with over the years. She lines up his case and weighs whether he will survive or not.

Except this baby is not like the many others that she has been on. If this tiny person doesn't survive, she won't go into the waiting room with her head bowed respectfully and inform a devastated couple that their child didn't make it. She will have to tell Jax and Gemma, maybe even Opie or Chibs or Tig, who ever has made the trek to the hospital.

What if this had been her son? What if she had stayed, started her practice here? Would she be married to Jax by now? Would this be a younger brother or the first in a long line? She had never been able to tell Jax no, and after years in the NICU, her desire for a baby has only grown.

She would've had Jax Teller's sons. She had wanted them, long ago. Had wanted to give him the large family he had always desired and asked for. But now, looking down at the baby in front of her, she resigns herself to the fact that the time to do that was long ago. She is not going to have Jax's child. But she can do something. She can save this one.

"Get stronger." She whispers to the little form. "Once you're strong enough, I promise I'll help you. You're going to live and thrive and grow up, ok? We're going to get you through this and you're going to be big and strong and one day I will think about you and I will know that no matter what I did all that I could to protect you. So get stronger. And then I promise it'll be ok." She gently touches the incubator then gathers up his charts and heads towards Wendy's room. It's time for her to do the job that she left Jax Teller for.

* * *

 _Gemma mets her grandson_

"Is he not coming back?" Tara demands, watching Jax storm out of the hospital in disbelief.

"No." Gemma says shortly, a faint sense of pride consuming her as she knows what her son is about to do.

"Come with me. You can wait while we run tests on Abel." She tells Gemma, leading her to the waiting room. She disappears through another door and Gemma stands for a while, scowling at the magazine selection, cursing at the channels on the TV, and picking at her nails.

She slumps in the hospital chair, rubbing her forehead. Her stomach hasn't felt this knotted and out of control for a long time, not since Jax wavered in his decision to join the club. Why is it always her son that causes her grey hair? She rubs her knees, wondering if getting up and walking will makes the stiffness in them better or worse when someone enters the waiting room.

"Gemma." Tara says quietly and Gemma stares evenly at her. She hasn't forgotten the memories, no matter how many years have passed. She will never forgive the woman across from her for a list of things that she has held in the back of her mind for years.

"Good or bad?" She asks flatly, refusing to stand at Tara's request.

"Is Jax coming back?" Tara asks again and Gemma glowers at her, refusing to answer. "Ok." Tara sighs, resigning herself to dealing with Gemma. "Well, Abel is somewhat stable. You can see him, but you can't touch him and it won't be for very long." She warns.

"I want to see my grandson." Gemma says firmly and Tara leads her through the set of doors she had disappeared through earlier. Gemma follows, her heels clicking on the tiled floor.

"He's through there." Tara says quietly, gesturing through a large window. Gemma stares at the mess of wires and machines, in which her first grandson is tangled. Tara waits, until Gemma looks at her, arching an eyebrow.

"You gonna let me in, or what?" She asks icily and Tara shakes her head. "Then you can run, doc." She says nastily, pushing the door open. She hears the noise of frustration Tara makes and smirks.

The smile is wiped off her face as she observes Abel for a long moment. She sets her purse on a chair and leans heavily against wall, just observing. She wants to get closer, but she remembers Tara's words and despite her dislike of the doctor, she doesn't want to do anything to endanger her grandson.

"Grandson." She whispers, as though she's testing the word. "Abel." The little boy doesn't stir, but she didn't have too much hope that he would react. She watches him thoughtfully.

He is too small for her to tell if he looks like Jax or Wendy. She knows how strong the Teller genes are- both her boys had hardly a drop of her in them. Even now, Jax resembles his father in a way that is somewhat unsettling. She prays for a long moment that the boy resembles no one but his father then leans forward to inspect him closely.

She has a sudden moment of déjà vu. She's done this before, twice. She takes a deep breath before the tears can spring to her eyes. She's stronger than this. She has spent years wrapping her heart in iron so that she will never feel that sort of heartbreak before, but now there's a chance it could all coming rushing back to her. She refuses to let it.

"You look more like Thomas." She whispers, before she can stop herself. "He was small too. Your daddy, he was stronger. Bigger. Thomas though, he was just tiny. He was a fighter. He fought for every moment he ever had on this Earth. And you will too, won't you Abel?"

She watches as his tiny chest rises and falls, struggling even as he's helped by the machines surrounding him. The statistic Tara quoted comes to mind. 20%. There is an 80% chance that come tomorrow morning or in a week or sometime soon, she will no longer be a grandma. She won't hold that title long before the little boy in front of her will be gone.

"You're a Teller." She tells the baby, her voice a little louder and a little stronger. "You're a Teller and that means you will have to scratch and claw and dig your place in this world. We live rough. We live fast. We're not a safe, comfy, little family. I want to tell you that you'll be fine but if you're not a fighter, Abel Teller, I don't know how much I can protect you."

She thinks of Jackson. Her eldest, her first born. He was always going to be her son, from the moment he was born and his cry split the delivery room. The doctors had told her of his flaw, of the heart that wasn't complete, but she knew better. She saw that pink face and his blue eyes and she knew that he would live and grow up, no matter what.

She searches for that same strength in Abel, trying to see if his little hands are clenched into fists. That had been the different between Jax and Thomas- Jax had came out of her womb ready to battle the world he had been born into. Thomas had been softer, his palms more open, ready to grab onto anyone who would offer him a finger. He had been so open to the world. She had loved Thomas as much as Jax, of that she has no doubts. They were her boys, her whole world, her future and reason for being.

But Jax had taken after her and Thomas had taken after John. Jax had been the child to run, unconcerned of if the next step he took would be his last. Thomas had been calmer, always smiling. She had loved that smile. She hadn't realized how much she had depended on that smile to get through her basic day.

She had been lost without her Thomas. She had been repulsed by John after Thomas's death. Perhaps he reminded her too much of the sweet boy she had lost. She idolized Jax in those moments, was thankful to see her strong son growing up and blossoming. Her relationship with Clay was doing the same and she fell in love with his strength, even when it translated to ruthlessness.

"Be like your father." She orders. "Be like him and force the world to do what you want. He's not here. I don't know when you'll meet him, Abel, but when you do, he's going to fall in love with you. He'll do anything to protect you. You're his son and there's nothing more important to a Teller than family."

She had always wanted a big family. She had always wanted kids, though she wanted sons and not daughters. She had been overjoyed to give John his sons. She had felt proud to see the legacy of the club continued in the two blond heads that she paraded around. They were her life's work and her greatest gift to John and the Sons.

"You are an heir to a throne, Abel Teller." She says, her voice rising to its normal pitch. "You are a Son, just like your father and your uncle. You are going to learn from your father how to ride and rule. You'll make us proud Abel, but you need to get through this. Pull through this and grow up. Grow up strong and proud and live a long life."

The little boy stirs and she holds her breath for a long moment. He twitches slightly, his tiny hands opening then balling into fists. Her mouth slowly grows into a smirk. There he is. There's Jackson Teller's son. He will grow up strong and proud and true. She has seen three boys before. Her three boys and each time she has cursed her genes for making her doubt their future.

None has been in as dire straits as Abel. Each has faced the problem of a weak heart, a flawed heart. But Abel has had to already overcome a mother trying to kill him. She won't. A Teller is not so easily slain. She has doubted a lot in her life, but she doesn't doubt this. She is a grandma, from this moment on. And she always will be, because this boy is going to live.

"See you soon, Abel." She says quietly, picking up her purse and walking out of the room, pausing to smile at the little boy. He looks so small. He needs something to be marked as a warrior. She makes a mental note to bring him something from the club then goes to find Tara. She wants to know the exact plan the doctor has in mind for her grandson.

 **AN:** Ok, first episode done! I think that since Abel's birth kicks off the show, it's only fair that I explore how the two of the most important women in his life reacted to it. Fun exploring Tara and Gemma. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think please!


	2. Season 1- Seeds

Episode 2: Seeds

 _Donna's thoughts on Opie_

Donna Winston can't sleep. She's never able to, not when Opie is gone somewhere on his bike. She knows that it would be better for her to sleep. She'd probably worry less. She's sure as hell have fewer grey hairs and wrinkles. Yet she lies awake in the bed she shares with him, waiting for the sound of his bike to come back up the driveway.

It used to mean something so different. When she was a teenager and they were dating, the sound of his bike down the street meant that she was going to sneak out, trying to avoid her parents and a grounding the next morning. It was always worth it though, the feeling of crawling out of bed, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, slipping through the window, darting through backyards to the corner where he would be waiting for her, a grin on his face and his bike ready to take her wherever they wanted to go.

When she had moved in with him, it still gave her a sense of excitement to hear him pull in. She waited up because she still couldn't contain the giddy excitement of him walking into their bedroom, peeling off his kutte and his jeans, climbing into bed with her. She wanted him near her all the time, because she wanted to feel that exhilaration all the time.

Once they had babies, she was up anyways. The sound of a motorcycle was relief that he was home safe, that she still had a husband. Someone else was there to change diapers and make bottles and maybe she could close her eyes for ten minutes and get just a few, precious moments of sleep. It was reassuring to know that he would take care of the kids and her, that her partner was back and he would kiss her forehead and cradle his son.

Then there was the night he didn't come home. She had asked him, in her usual roundabout way, not wanting to find anything about the club. He had given her his usual vague answer- maybe midnight, maybe two. He wasn't sure how long this job would last. So she had put the kids to sleep and then herself, crawling into the too big bed and waiting. Ellie had woken up once, Ken twice. She had gotten up and comforted them, promised that yes, daddy's coming home soon, he'll be there in the morning, like always.

Then she got the call. It was from Gemma. She wonders now if the club was too busy dealing with the fallout that she was an afterthought, a throwaway delegated to the queen. She'll never forget how she was standing in the kitchen in one of Opie's old tee shirts, gripping the counter and trying not to faint as Gemma told her that something had gone wrong and then her next words,

"Opie won't be coming home tonight."

He didn't come home for five years. She laid alone in her bed for five years, as her children crawled in with her and then left once more, too big and too angry to let her comfort them anymore. She always slept fitfully. It was like she was programmed to think he was still coming home, even when he wasn't anymore. She still waited for that sound.

So now she sits in her bed, upright and rigid, the sheets clenched in her fists. She will never be that teenager, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to climb on the back of his bike. Now it repulses her. It's a sign of the club, the men who don't care about her and her family, only their band of brothers.

"Mom?" A quiet voice asks from the darkness and she switches on a lamp to see Ken leaning around the door carefully, looking at his bare feet.

"Hey, c'mere." She says, patting the bed next to her and he hurries over to her, scooting close to her. "What's wrong?" She asks, as he carefully snuggles into her side.

"Is… Is dad coming home tonight?" He asks softly, picking at the skin around his nails.

"Yes." She says automatically, even though that exact thought was running through her head. "Why would you think he wasn't?"

"I haven't heard his bike." He tells her and she feels a painful squeeze around her heart. So her children have picked up on her trick too.

"He'll be back soon." She promises. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you up when he gets home." Soon Ken is lightly snoring in her arms and she is still sitting in her bed, just waiting.

The noise wakes Ken. He's shot up and is out of the bed before she can even release her grip on the blankets. She follows at a slower pace. Ken is watching through the window as his father parks the bike, hanging his helmet on the handlebars and walking towards the garage. Ken waits until he hears the click of a key shifting the lock and sneaks back to his bedroom. She watches him go with sad eyes then looks up as Opie enters the hallway.

"What are you doing still up?" He asks, clearly confused.

"I'm always up when you're gone." She says quietly.

"Are the kids asleep?" He asks, glancing at the shut doors. She hesitates for a moment then nods. He doesn't need to know that his son worries just as much as she does. "Well, I'm ready for bed." He says.

"Of course you are." She says under her breath, walking back into the bedroom. When he's done brushing his teeth, he climbs into bed and reaches for her. His hand hovers over her waist. Then he draws it back and rolls onto his side, leaving a wide gap between the two of them.

* * *

 _Gemma and John's Wedding_

"I look like a whale." Gemma comments, frowning and turning one way and another, making faces.

"You do not." Luann scoffs, tugging her own dress on and smiling at her. "You look gorgeous, as always."

"My mother would drop dead of a heart attack if she saw me now." Gemma mutters, a smirk crossing her face as she straightens her dress over the large bump that is her stomach.

"Well, if one thing is sure, John's gonna have a hard time keeping his hands off you." Luann says and Gemma admires her figure in the mirror for a moment then turns and lowers herself into the chair Luann has dragged into the center of the room. She stands behind her, pining the veil into Gemma's hair.

"I'm just jealous that he'll be getting drunk and I'll be sipping water the entire night." She says crabbily and Luann waves a hand.

"You'll be too busy trying to take a nap to think about that." She promises and Gemma remains quiet as Luann finishes up.

"How does it look?" She asks.

"You look stunning, sweetheart." She says, kissing Gemma's cheek. Gemma gets up and while Luann busies herself gathering the flowers, she looks out the window. She feels a swell of pride at the sight of bikes lining the dusty road. Sons, here for her. She feels the nagging voice in the back of her mind reminding her that her family is absent, even her beloved father. She pushes it away. Nate would bring Rose and Rose would bring judgment.

"Thanks." She says quietly when Luann hands her the large bouquet of white flowers.

"Not getting cold feet are you?" Luann teases.

"They're too swollen to get cold." She complains but the baby kicks in protest and she smiles at her belly. She knows, somehow, that the person within is a boy. She's never doubted that.

"C'mon, it's almost time." Luann coaxes and Gemma takes one final look in the mirror before following her best friend. They wait in a side room, Luann fixing Gemma's dress and hair for the thousandth time. Gemma lets her fuss. She stands and feels her son moving within her. The wedding march begins and Luann is first out the door, her golden hair practically glowing in the warm sunlight.

The log hotel is fairly far off the beaten path. It's small and the owner gladly rented the entire thing to the Sons, in exchange for some deal Gemma didn't feel the need to ask about. That had been her one fuss about the wedding. She was not getting married in a church.

She didn't plan on being 8 months pregnant when she got married either, but she doesn't mind it now. She wants to be married before she gives birth though so her child isn't one of wedlock- apparently old habits die hard. But she's glad for her pregnancy. It's a sign of her loyalty to the club and John. She is their queen and she has their heir. It's her job and she didn't know how badly she wanted this baby until she found out she was having it.

When the doors open for her to walk down the little makeshift aisle, she feels a rush of pride to see the open awe on the faces of those in the chairs. Men in kuttes admire her as she steps, slowly and deliberately, down the aisle. The women are nodding respectfully. Gemma Madock is about to become Gemma Teller and take her rightful place as the queen.

John is watching her with blatant love and lust. She smiles at him, then notices Piney and Clay at her side. Piney looks happy for them, but Clay's expression is far more closed. He looks at her and for a moment, a surge of hunger flashes across his face. She smirks and joins John at the alter.

He looks so handsome, with his long hair and his kutte. That had been his one point to make in the whole wedding planning. He and the rest would wear their kuttes and Gemma had never dreamed of stopping him. On the contrary, she prefers it. Another way to prove that she will never marry someone like her father. His hair is long and beard full. He is smiling that half smile she so loved, the first time she saw it when he made a comment to her and she had snapped back, the wild streak in her apparent from the very first second.

The ceremony is brief. She knows better than to try and confine all these men in one small space for too long a time. Besides, she's too pregnant to stand for long amounts of time. Their vows are traditional, with the extra biker line thrown in. She doesn't blush, just straightens up with pride. The wedding bands are equally simple, but when John slides it on her finger, the child in her gives a hearty kick and she laughs.

"I love you." He whispers when he draws her in for their first kiss and it's sweet, how he rests one hand on her next and the other on her belly. He tastes like he always has, like cigarettes and mint, his beard scratching her as she kisses him back passionately.

She's done it. She's John Teller's wife. No more is she Gemma Madock, Pastor Nate's innocently little girl. No more 'my, how big you've gotten. What happened to that little brother of yours? Well, I simply didn't think Rose's daughter would act like this'. She's Gemma Teller from here on out and she's the queen of Sons and of Charming and everyone will know.

After the ceremony, they take a few pictures. John and Clay insist that they go take some by the bikes, because the women are loved only slightly more than the bikes and Gemma agrees. She takes John's teasing that she can no longer ride behind him, for fear that her stomach would take up too much.

She feels happy in this moment. Blissfully happy. She doesn't need her old family. She has this one. Men that would kill to protect her and women that look up to her. She rests her left hand on her stomach and feels the gold on her stomach. She laughs as someone takes a picture; unable to stop the giddiness that she's finally gotten away from the list she thought she would live forever.

She was right to predict an access of drinking. It's hardly an hour in when two men start fighting and John wades in to break them up, emerging with a cut on his forehead and an amused grin. Gemma rolls her eyes, but she knew it would happen. It's rough, this crowd.

"You look amazing." Someone comments behind her and she turns to look. Clay has a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She smiles at him, subconsciously rubbing her bump.

"Just glad no one is calling a mammoth." She says ruefully and he shakes his head quickly.

"No one would ever call you that." He promises and she just smiles a little wider. He toasts her with his drink and wanders off.

"C'mon, I want to take you home." John whispers in her ear, grabbing her waist and giving a tug.

"For what? You're too drunk to do anything for me." She appraises and he chuckles heartily, kissing her neck.

"Doesn't mean I can't try… Wife." He says and at that word, he rubs her belly, making their child move.

"Then take me home… Husband." She responds and leads him away, to the cheers of everyone gathered.

 **AN** : Well, a short little two stories not focused on Jax or Tara (sorry I love them) but a little something on Opie and then a little bit more on the wedding photo. Please leave me reviews, I love to hear what you guys think on this stuff!


	3. Season 1- Funtown

Episode 3: Fun Town

 _"People in this town come to us."_

"Trevor, put the Fruit Loops back." A tall, black haired woman says tiredly. Her son, no older than 10, looks sadly at the bright cereal box, his lower lip jutting out into a pout.

"But mom-" He starts to protest and she fixes him with a stern look. Huffing, he slides the box onto a random shelf, folding his arms. He trudges behind her, scuffing his shoes against the shiny floor of the grocery store.

"Quit it." She orders, looking down at her list.

"I'll stop it when I get the food I want." He mutters beneath his breath and she looks down at him, frustrated.

"Trevor, I can't afford that stuff." She tries to explain.

"We got it when dad lived with us!" He fires back instantly and her hand clenches tightly around the list before she relaxes, smoothing out the crinkles with trembling hands.

"Well, your father isn't here anymore." She says quietly. "So please go get some butter and let it go." Grumbling, the little boy heads toward the dairy aisle. He freezes when he sees a man in front of him, a basket dangling on his arm. The reason why Trevor froze- a skeleton is on the back of the man's leather vest thing, leering down at him.

He stumbles back out of instinct, his anger at his mother forgotten. He doesn't want to appear afraid, but he can't help it. The man looks up at the noise, his brown eyes quickly spotting the little boy.

"Need sumthin'?" He asks and the boy frowns at the accent. He's never heard anyone talk like that before. He shakes his head, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, fascinated by the amount of leather and chains on the man. He chuckles and sets the jug of milk in his basket, moving aside. Trevor darts forward to get the butter, but sees instantly there will be an issue- the butter is on the top shelf, far too tall for him to reach.

"Crap." He mutters, wondering if his mother will be angrier if he would try to balance on the railing to reach the butter.

"What kind?" The same funny voice asks and he looks up to see the man is watching him with a half smile. Closer, he notices the deep-set scars on the man's face and gawks for a long moment before remembering not to be rude.

"That kind." He says, tearing his eyes away and pointing to the brand he's used to seeing in the kitchen. The man grabs a stick and offers it to him. He shakes his head before blushing deep red. "No, uh… The other kind… The… The cheap one." He mutters, ducking his head.

"Dis?" The man asks, after a pause and Trevor looks up, nodding and taking the butter.

"Thanks." He says quickly and the man nods. He scurries back to his mother, handing her the butter. She takes it distractedly and continues to examine the price of a box of noodles. At the register, he jumps slightly when he sees the man again at the register next to him, holding a box of Fruit Loops.

"Trevor, the bags." His mother says and he grabs the two small grocery bags, still watching the man as he goes through the check out. He looks up and catches Trevor staring. He smiles slightly and falls into step with them as he hurries after his mother.

"Here ya go." He says, offering the book of Fruit Loops. His mother looks up, surprised, looking between Trevor and the man in confusion. "Every kid needs a little sugar in their cereal." He says and Trevor glances at his mother. Still a little bewildered, she nods and he takes the box, grinning.

"Thank you, but my family doesn't need charity." She says, once she's regained some of her wits and the man shrugs.

"Aye, I'm sure ya don't. Just like ta do nice things." He says easily, offering her his hand. "Chibs."

"Shelby." She responds with slightly narrowed eyes. He nods and then, whistling a jaunty tune, heads towards a motorcycle. "C'mon, to the car." She says, shooing Trevor towards their mini van. He watches the man on the motorcycle for as long as he can but he's quickly out of sight.

"Mom." He says quietly, once they're out of the parking lot and on the road back home.

"Yes?" She asks, frowning as the check engine light blares at her.

"That guy. What'd he have a skeleton on?" He asks curiously.

"He's a biker." She tells him. "It's like a uniform, so that people know who he is."

"He was cool." He says thoughtfully and she raises her eyebrows at him in the review mirror.

The next morning, he happily eats his bowl of Fruit Loops. He glances up to see his mother, a rare smile on her face.

"Get for school." She says and he hops down, carefully dumping the excess milk into the sink and setting his bowl and spoon down. He grabs his backpack off the hook by the door and runs to the van.

"Will you turn on music?" He requests and it's a sign of his mother's good mood that she actually does, nodding along slightly to the beat. She pulls up to the school and parks, twisting to look at him.

"Give me a kiss." She says, offering her cheek.

"Mom, no!" He says, revolted.

"Trevor." She says and he groans, pecking her cheek as fast as he can before dashing out of the car and towards the school. The day goes normally enough- math is hard, English is boring, but they get to go outside for science and that makes it a good day. He walks out of school happily, looking for the van.

Instead he sees a little red car and a man standing outside it, scanning the crowd of kids streaming past him, some on the way to their bus, others to walk, and some like himself, waiting for parents. He watches the man curiously for a moment before realizing something.

"DAD!" He yells, running for the car. The man looks at him and bends down, catching him and tousling his hair.

"Hey, Trevor. Buddy. Long time. C'mon, let's go." He says quickly, dragging on Trevor's arm.

"Wait, what about mom?" Trevor asks, digging his heels in and looking wildly around for his mother.

"She's a bitch." His dad says tightly and lifts Trevor into the car. "Now shut up and I'll get McDonalds."

Shelby stands with her hands on her head, looking about in panic. No Trevor. She had been not even five minutes late; of course her boss had been an absolute pain and a stickler that she stay her entire shift. She sees Trevor's teacher and lunges for her, catching her shoulder.

"Trevor- not- here- he- where?" She gasps, unable to form coherent sentences. The teacher frowns then shakes her head.

"Oh, no worries. His dad picked him up. Did he not tell you?" She says and for a moment, Shelby is plunged back into that night. The blows to her face. The kicks to her stomach. The screaming and threats to kill her. His promise as the police dragged him away that he would come back and take her son from her and she would never see him again.

"Call… Call…" She mutters, remembering how the police had brushed off her concern over her husband and dismissed her fears that he would take Trevor from her. They had done nothing. Without saying a word to the teacher, she turns on her heel and heads back to the van. She's never been there before, but she's passed it plenty of times.

"We got a van pulling in!" Juice yells.

"On the tow truck or what?" Tig asks and Juice shakes his head.

"It's not pulling up to the garage, it looks like it's coming here." He says, watching it. The rest of the club gathers around.

"I know 'er…" Chibs mutters, watching as Shelby walks up to the club, hesitation in every line of her body. Everyone glances at him, confused. Without explaining, he gets up and opens the door, ushering Shelby in.

"Sorry." She says instantly, as everyone watches her carefully. "I just, I met Chibs here the other day, and, and… My son Trevor, he, they got along, and he got Fruit Loops…" She rambles and Clay exchanges raised eyebrows with Piney. "I think my ex husband took him." She sums up.

"Should he not have him?" Tig asks carefully and she shakes her head.

"He doesn't love Trevor, he just wants to hurt me. He… He… He abused me. And I don't want the same for Trevor." She whispers and Chibs sits her down, speaking to her in hushed tones.

"Wait 'ere. We'll get Trevor." He reassures her and she nods, holding her head between her knees.

"We're doing what now?" Clay asks, eyeing Shelby. Chibs explains and the club raises their eyebrows or sighs, depending on their nature.

"We're gonna kick some heads in?" Tig asks, eyes lighting up.

"Don't hurt the kid." Chibs says and then they file out the door.

Trevor plays with the couple action figures his father had grabbed him, trying not to look bored and failing. He glances at his father out of the corner of his eye, watching as he paces nervously. The sky outside is darkening.

"When it's dark, we'll go, ok?" He says, when he notices Trevor looking at him. Trevor frowns.

"But why?" He asks cautiously. He already knows better than to ask about his mother.

"So you can sleep in the car." His father says, with forced cheeriness in his voice, pacing even faster. Trevor doesn't bother to mention that he can't fall asleep in the car. He just wants his mom.

The sound of motorcycles makes him look up. His father doesn't seem to be bothered by it, but Trevor is reminded of the tall man with scars and skeleton and scoots closer to the window, trying not to be obvious.

He peeks through the blinds, seeing that there are a couple men walking towards the main office, looking around. He can't see them when they disappear through the door. He sits back, wondering if it even means anything. It doesn't. He's just being silly, he thinks.

He wanders over to the bed and sits, setting the action figures aside with a sigh. For once in his life, he actually wants to do his homework. Anything so that he doesn't feel so bored and cramped in the tiny room. He curls up on his side and watches the window, wondering what his mom is doing.

A loud bang breaks the silence and he bolts upright, clutching the action figures tightly to his chest. His father has lunged at the figure in the doorway, but he's a large man and he fights back easily. Trevor watches in terror as the man beats his father onto the ground, until he's not moving. He wants to run, but he's frozen. Then someone walks through the door.

"Chibs!" He yells, recognizing the scars. He launches himself at the man, who catches him and picks him up.

"Ya ma is worryin'." He says, walking out of the motel with him.

"Tell Unser we found him." Another man calls and Trevor buries his head in the leather covered chest of Chibs.

"Here ya go." Chibs says loudly, entering the clubhouse and depositing Trevor on the floor. He runs for his mother and she catches him, crying. She holds him tightly until he squirms.

"I can't… I can't even begin to thank you." She says, looking up at the men.

"Our pleasure." Tig says dismissively, wiping blood off his lip before grinning and grabbing a bottle from behind the bar.

"Ya can stay 'ere, if ya want." Chibs offers and she looks at him, one hand on Trevor's head. "Got a room for the little man… And one for adults." His meaningful look makes Shelby blush.

"I'd like that." She says quietly and they disappear towards the dorm rooms, Chibs smiling at her.

* * *

 _How Tara met Kohn_

"The problem isn't her heart, we checked, we checked, we checked…" Dr. Tara Knowles mutters to herself, poring over the file she has spread out over the entire table. She shuffles through them, trying desperately to find the one that she wants. "Where is it?" She asks aloud, moving aside several empty coffee cups and squinting at the text on each.

Her dark brown is piled, haphazardly, on her head. Many a bystander, waiting in line for their coffee, has puzzled over how it's all staying atop her head, held by what seems like nothing more than sheer force of will. Her pretty face is marred by the deep purple circles ringing her eyes and the jerky movements of her hands that betray heavy caffeine use.

The baristas in the small shop are use to her. She works at the hospital only a couple blocks up the road and will come here during a particular hard case. They refuse to serve her more than one coffee an hour and after a solid 36 hours, they know enough to send her home, kicking and screaming.

She pores over the latest report on the baby's weight, wracking her brain for an explanation as to why the little girl stubbornly refuses to gain weight. She takes a deep breath and rubs her face. She checks her watch. 4:17. Only eight more minutes before she can get another shot of espresso. She vaguely wonders if she should start feeding herself coffee through an IV when someone on his phone strides by, bumping her table and sending a wave of papers onto the floor. She grumbles about inconsiderate people, bending down to pick them up.

"I am so sorry." A loud voice says and she looks up. The man has gotten off his phone and is kneeling down to help her gather the papers. "A complete ass, wasn't paying attention at all, totally my fault."

"No, it's mine, I have everything all over." She says blushing and he grins at her. He's handsome, if not a little bit older, but he has a head full of hair and light brown eyes that twinkle. He hands her some papers, looking them over.

"Wow, medical mumbo-jumbo. You're a doctor." He states, clearly impressed.

"Yeah." She says and he casts an eye over the discarded coffee cups littered around her.

"A caffeine addicted doctor." He observes and she blushes deeper.

"Helps me stay up when I've got a difficult case. I never sleep anyways, so this keeps me alert." She justifies and he rummages in his pocket, producing his wallet.

"How about I get you another one then?" He asks and she shakes her head.

"No, no, there's no need." She reassures him.

"Please, consider it payback for knocking your stuff off the table." He bargains and she's taken aback. Usually, people aren't this considerate.

"Actually, uh, actually, that would be nice." She stammers. "But you'll have to wait, I still have six more minutes until they'll give me coffee." He raises an eyebrow. "They, uh, limit my intake." She explains and he laughs.

"Six minutes. I can talk to a pretty woman for six minutes before buying her coffee." He says easily. "May I?" He gestures to the chair across from her and she nods. He sits down. "I'm John Kohn, by the way." He introduces himself.

"Tara. Knowles." She says and he nods.

"Dr. Tara Knowles." He says thoughtfully. "Where you from Tara?"

"California." She says quietly and he must pick up on how uncomfortable she is with that question because he neatly stacks the papers.

"So may I ask you what's so hard about this case? Mental illness? Mystery disease? Exotic treatments?" He jokes and she shakes her head, relaxing somewhat, taking the papers from him.

"I work in the NICU." She tells him and he looks even more impressed.

"Like premature babies?" He asks and she nods.

"Sometimes they have complications and we're not always sure what the cause of it is. If we just treat the one thing, we might be missing the bigger problem and when it's babies this small, it's a mistake we can't afford to make." She says, her passion making the words slip out.

"You save the tiniest lives." He says, looking at her with open admiration. "I should buy you coffee everyday."

"Well, not everyday. Don't want to be too shaky for surgery." She jokes and he laughs deeply.

"And a sense of humor." He says, grinning. "I like that." She shifts slightly, wondering what he means, but his phone rings once again and he smiles apologetically. "I have to get this. Don't move, I'm serious about that coffee." He says, pointing at her and she nods. He answers, speaking in low tones.

She returns to her papers, trying to file them back into some order, mind racing. Usually strangers hardly spare her a passing glance. And the NICU isn't exactly the place to pick up men, what with them being there with their wives, fawning over their newborn babies. So why in the world would some man sit down and offer to buy her coffee?

"Ok Doc, time!" A barista yells, making Tara jump. John holds up a hand, ending the call with a couple short, sharp words.

"On me." He says, walking up to the counter and smiling charmingly, waiting patiently for the steaming cup. He delivers it to her table as though he carries it on a silver platter.

"Thank you." She says politely, setting aside so it can cool. John watches her for a second, then produces a card and slides it into the file.

"My card." He explains when she looks up at him. "Next time you're busy saving lives, let me at least buy the coffee for it."

"That's not necessary." She protests and he waves a hand.

"Call me." He says, breezing out the door. She thumbs through the file until she finds the little card and flips it over.

A shiver runs down her spine automatically when she sees the description underneath. A.T.F. She can't help that she has an instant distrust and dislike of authority. No matter where she is now, some part of that wild, stubborn girl from Charming remains.

However, she's older now. More mature. Maybe she's ready. Maybe this is exactly what she needs. She tucks the card into her purse then takes a sip of the coffee. It burns her tongue but she hardly notices. She needs to find out what she's missed and this time she will.

 **AN:** A little bit of Chibs and Tara... Cause I love Chibs and I always wondered what Tara was like in Chicago. Please keep letting me know about whether you like it or love it or hate it. Thanks for reading!


	4. Season 1- Patch Over

Episode 4: Patch over

 _The rose petals_

The first time Kohn ever sends her flowers in a couple days after that fateful moment in the coffee shop.

"Dr. Knowles." A barista says, smiling at her as Tara reaches the counter, smiling and already pulling her hair up into a messy bun. "What case is it this time?" She asks, already inputting Tara's order.

"I think it might be a small hernia, but no one agrees." She says, rummaging through her purse and producing the exact change for the coffee.

"You'll figure it out." The barista says warmly then checks the clock. "You can come back at the 45 ok?" She says and Tara nods, picking up the steaming coffee, heading to her normal table. She's not there for more than 10 minutes when the flowers arrive, handed to her by a smiling deliveryman. Surprised, she checks the note on them.

 _A little birdie told me you were here. Since I can't make it, I thought you could use these to brighten your day. Have some more coffee on me. I'm sure you'll figure it out soon. I would love to see you sometime soon._

She sets the card aside, trying to be flattered and happy that someone has sent her flowers, but she can't ignore the nagging feeling that something about this isn't right. How does he know she's here? Is he watching her?

She quashes down the nagging in her stomach and smiles, smelling the roses. They've never been her favorite flower, since they remind her of her mother's death, but she takes a deep sniff before drinking her coffee and spreading her case file all around her.

The second time he sends her flowers is at work, after a 24-hour shift and all she wants to do is sleep.

"Who got flowers sent to the front desk?" A nurse squeals and Tara cringes slightly at the pitch.

"Not James, he's never that romantic." One nurse jokes. Another plucks the card from the arrangement and reads the name aloud.

"Tara… Dr. Knowles, they're for you!" She says, offering her the card. Tara takes her hands out of her lab coat and accepts the card, opening it and reading the note inside.

 _Thought these might make your day a little more fun. You're amazing for saving lives and I would love it if I could steal just one evening from you._

"Dr. Knowles, do you have a boyfriend? Did you not tell anyone?" One nurse demands, half teasing.

"He's not a boyfriend." Tara says quickly and they go quiet. Tara tries to force a smile on her face, remembering the comments made that she comes off as aloof, rigid, and reserved. "I just met him at the coffee shop down the road, nothing special."

"Better than the bar when I met Joey." Another nurse says and they go back to talking about boyfriends and husbands. Tara gathers up the flowers and carries them to her office, setting them on her desk and shutting the lights off. She really just wants her bed.

The third time he sends her flowers in a week after that, and this time he goes a step further.

She's gently examining a little boy, checking to make sure that none of his wires are causing him discomfort when there's tapping on the class. She looks up and jumps. Kohn is standing there, a bundle of red roses filling his arms. She finishes the exam and calls a nurse in before walking out.

"What are you doing here?" She demands, without preamble.

"I figured that if you were too busy to respond to me, I would have to figure out a way to fit into your busy schedule." He says and she frowns, dragging him around a corner.

"You can't just show up here." She protests.

"Why not?" He asks innocently.

"Well, it's not professional. What would people say if I just showed up at your work?" She demands.

"Well, first off, they'd be impressed that I could pull such an amazing girl." He says smoothly and she sighs, pulling him towards her office.

"You can leave those in there." She says, pointing and he deposits them on her desk, taking care to arrange them.

"Ok, I'll leave those there, but I'm not leaving here until I hate a date with the beautiful, amazing Dr. Tara Knowles." He says and she sighs, folding her arms and looking up at him. He smiles down at her.

"If I say yes, do the impromptu flower deliveries stop?" She asks pointedly and he nods. "Then alright. Tuesday. I'm done at 6. You can pick me up at 7." She says flatly and he beams.

"I look forward to it." He says and she nods. He winks and walks down the hall jauntily, whistling.

"Wow." A nurse says, clearly impressed, craning her neck around the corner to watch him walk away.

"What?" Tara asks, giving her an odd look.

"I wish a guy would send me flowers and ask me out like that." Another nurse says wistfully.

"Instead they just call and then you never hear from them again." The nurse scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"How do you know that's how this won't go?" Tara questions and she raises her eyebrows.

"Because no man that spends that amount of money on flowers is going to not call you." She says and Tara decides that it is romantic, the amount of attention he's paying her. She should revel in it.

Once he has her address, he sends the flowers there.

Frequently, she'll wake up to her front stoop covered in them and she'll have to drag them inside before work, struggling to find vases. For the first couple months, it doesn't really bother her. This is how he shows affection.

Then the fighting starts. It's late and she's tired and she just wants to sleep because she's lost a baby and that always weighs too heavy on her heart. He wants her come to the bar with him and some coworkers and when she protests, yearning for a hot bath, he screams at the top of his lungs.

She's useless, she's boring, she's plain and dull. She hates him. She clearly doesn't want to be with him. She's ashamed of him, that's why she won't be seen in public with him. He threatens to walk out, to leave and find someone better. And she's stunned.

The next morning, everything is covered in roses. It looks as though someone has covered her entire building in them, like the skies had poured down petals on just her. It's clearly his sorry. She receives the in person sorry later that day, complete with a bouquet and she tells herself that people just have bad days and that both their jobs are stressful.

After the breakup, when she tells him that things are moving too fast and she needs some space to breathe, the petals aren't a symbol of love anymore. They're like a looming threat that he's there. He knows where she lives, where she works, where she sits. The coffee shop starts having rose petals outside the door, making her hands tremble when she gets coffee. Every time she opens the door to her office, she holds her breath.

And then she's in Charming, states away, and she sees them on her car and her breath hitches in her throat because there's only one person who would do that to her.

* * *

 _"You don't ever sit on another man's bike, asshole."_

"Where's Tara?" Jax asks loudly.

"Calm down, her and Donna went to the bathroom. We leaving soon?" Opie asks and Jax drinks the last bit of his beer then nods. They get up from the ring around the fire, smiling and slapping backs as they leave. They head towards their bikes before stopping and staring.

"You…" Jax says softly, trailing off. There's no need to finish the sentence. Opie clearly understands, because he looks just as stunned as Jax.

A couple younger boys are talking loudly and laughing, running their hands over the two Harleys, side by side, careless in their regard of the bikes. Jax and Opie watch, stunned at how brazen they are before one, smacking his buddies and chortling, sits down on Jax's bike.

Something snaps in Jax and he lunges forward, Opie close behind him. They fall on the younger boys with loud yells, pummeling them with all their strength, clearly at the advantage even though they're outnumbered.

"I hate those things." Tara complains, exiting the bathroom with a disgusted look on her face. Donna laughs as they loop their arms.

"Sometimes I think you only come to these things because you like it when Jax shows you off." She teases and Tara shrugs.

"I mean, the free booze isn't exactly a downside." She deadpans and Donna shakes her head, both of them laughing as they stride back to the fire.

"What's going on?" Tara wonders aloud, watching as people stream away from the fire and towards the cars.

"I think there's a fight." Donna says, squinting and they exchange a look before hurrying towards the crowd. They make their way through the mass, pushing and shoving until they can get to the front.

Jax and Opie are both wrestling in the dirt, grunting as they attempt to beat the boys into submission. The crowd around is chanting and cheering, drunk and ready for a fight. Tara and Donna watch, knowing there's nothing that either of them can do but wait.

Jax growls, putting the boy in a headlock, his adrenaline pumping. The anger that had flared up when he saw someone else on his bike hasn't subsided whatsoever and he knows it won't. Jax Teller is infamous for his wild temper and it's well known.

"Jax!" He hears his name through the din. He knows because he can always hear that voice, no matter what. No matter who's around. Sometimes he hears it even when she's not there. Tara. "Jax, enough!" She repeats, this time louder and he release the boy, looking up.

Donna is attending to Opie, who's sporting a cut lip, but otherwise looks mostly intact. Tara has her arms folded, standing on the edge of the crowd and looking down at him with a slight frown. He grins and stands up, brushing himself off with ease.

"We done here?" Opie asks loudly and Jax looks down at the boys in the dirt, avoiding his eyes.

"Yeah, we're done." He says confidently and the crowd slowly disperses, grumbling. Tara raises an eyebrow as he walks over towards her.

"And what sparked it this time?" She questions, quirking one eyebrow and refusing to uncross her arms.

"He was sitting on my bike." Jax states, like it should be obvious. "You shouldn't ever sit on another man's bike."

"You are impossible." Tara sighs, wiping blood off his forehead and inspecting the rest of his face. "Let's go home so you can shower."

"Only if you join me." He whispers in her ear and she smacks him.

"Good lord, if you're this protective of your bike, I wonder what you'd be like if someone tried to get with me." Tara says lightly as she climbs on the bike and strapping her helmet on.

Jax knows she's joking and that she likely isn't thinking about it. She's joking and it's far from her mind. But that doesn't mean it's far from his. In fact, a very hot ember is sitting in his gut, burning him. The wave of anger he felt at the idea of anyone else trying to touch Tara surprised even him. Its size was massive and he feels even more protective of her.

As they ride through Charming in the dark, he tries to calm himself from his reaction to this vision. But one thought keeps coming to the forefront of his mind. If he were willing to fight someone for touching his bike, he would kill someone for touching his Tara.

* * *

 _Being a sweetbutt_

"You've been here for three years?" Susie asks Cherry, surprised. The small brunette shrugs and takes another drink of her beer. "How'd you find this place?" She asks, looking around at the club.

"I'm from Phoenix. When I was 17, my mom got a new boyfriend. He liked me more than he liked my mom. Once I was 18, I was done with him and I told my mom it was me or him… She picked him so I left." Cherry broods for a moment, then shrugs. "I hitchhiked a lot. I wanted to get to Vegas. I thought I could be a show girl." She says, a faint hint of a smile.

"Did you?" Susie asks eagerly and Cherry's smile falters, though she masks it by drinking again.

"Sorta. I was a stripper for a little bit, but I got sick of the guys always grabbing me and not getting paid anything. So I left. I decided to get to Reno. Got family there. But I detoured through Indian Hills and I heard that I could make some good money with Jury. He was just starting out." She lies.

"Starting out what?" Susie asks innocently and Cherry snorts.

"Hookers, girl. So I decided to do that so I could save up some money. But I fell in love with the Tribe instead. They take care of me. Better than anyone else ever has. They'll take care of you too." She says, bumping Susie.

"Oh, I have Jax." Susie says dismissively and Cherry raises an eyebrow.

"Are you his old lady?" She asks and Susie furrows her forehead in confusion. "It means his wife or girlfriend." Cherry clarifies.

"Oh no, but…" Susie trails off, not sure where's she's going with this.

"You're a sweet butt." Cherry informs her. "We all are, until we can keep one of the guys."

"Keep them?" Susie asks and Cherry nods.

"See, these guys, they don't stay loyal. It's not in their nature and sometimes women don't accept that. But you have to. A sweet butt is who he spends a night with. An old lady is who he goes home to. And you respect the old lady. Always." Cherry says pointed and Susie is frowning.

"So you just do whatever they tell you?" She asks and Cherry nods.

"It's not about being their slave, if that's what you're thinking." She clarifies. "It's about proving loyalty. That you'll be able to do whatever they ask, whenever they ask. That's why if an old lady isn't loyal, it can tear the whole club down. We keep them strong and tough. They keep us happy." She says, smiling.

"When do think you'll become an old lady?" Susie asks and Cherry shrugs, casting an eye over the girls and then men, settling on Jax for a long moment. He looks distracted and worried, hardly paying an attention to the girls parading past him with no clothing.

"One day. It's about waiting from the right guy too. One who sees you for what you are, rather than just another pussy. He'll love you. I'm still waiting for that guy, but he'll come." She says confidently.

"I had no idea." Susie says, wide eyed.

"Your last boyfriend not a biker?" Cherry asks her with raised eyebrows and Susie shakes her head.

"He has a crotch rocket, but he wasn't a part of a club or anything." She describes and Cherry looks up when someone whistles. It's just Bobby pointing to a girl, so Cherry looks back at Susie.

"A club is a family. That's the first thing you're gonna learn. Sweet butt or not, if you stay, you're family." Cherry says flatly.

"I just thought… Jax." Susie says hesitantly and Cherry finishes her beer.

"Yeah, he's handsome, he's sexy, but think about it for a minute. You think he's dreaming about forever with some girl he picked up off the side of the road? Men like him, they always have something else going on. Always. If you're looking for a guy who's gonna be loyal to only you, you're wrong honey." She says.

"Cherry!" Jury yells.

"Yeah?" She calls back, standing up instantly.

"Get another round." He says and she nods, looking pointedly at Susie. She stands as well and follows Cherry to the bar, pouring shots and setting them on a tray. Cherry grabs the tray and heads over to the clump of men, disbursing shots to them and smiling.

"Is this all you do?" Susie asks and Cherry ignores her, washing the shot glasses and reorganizing the bottles.

"Go see if anyone needs another beer." She orders and Susie does as told.

 **AN:** A little Tara/Kohn, a bit of Tara/Jax, and something about Cherry's past, even though we know she's lying. I love that you guys are telling me your thoughts on these stories and giving me ideas, (there was a request for Gemma/Clay's wedding, so I'm thinking about where that's gonna be) so please keep it up, I'm always open to those kinds of things. Thank you for reading, please review!


	5. Season 1- Giving Back

Episode 5: Giving Back

 _When Jax and Opie got back tattoos_

"Today's the day." Jax announces, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

"For what?" Gemma asks distractedly, reading the paper.

"Op and I are going to the tattoo parlor." Jax informs her and she looks up, eyebrows already raised.

"For what?" She asks sharply.

"Thought it was high time we got our backs done." He says nonchalantly and Gemma relaxes some.

"Well, I agree." She says, leaning forward and watching her son. Jax ignores her, stealing the paper and reading it.

It's been a month since Tara left. She is still hesitant around her son and she hates it. They have always had a close relationship and she always knew the line to stop pushing. But now, she has no idea what to do and say to Jax so that he won't snap at her.

"If anyone from the club asks, that's where we're at." Jax says, setting his bowl in the sink and grabbing his kutte from the back of a chair.

"Jackson." She says and he pauses, halfway out the door. "I'm glad... I'm glad you're doing this." She says and he just nods his head, walking about the door. She watches as it slams, once hand automatically going to her chest, tracing her still prominent scar.

She will never forget the night that he came home, smelling of the girl, and told her he wasn't sure if he wanted to commit to his father's club. That he wasn't sure if he wanted to be SAMCRO and she knew that the girl had twisted her claws into him and Gemma was close to losing her son and all that she had built. That rage had been unspeakable.

This tattoo means that he is a part of the club forever. That he's committing, all in. He will never leave, not after this. He doesn't have a choice. Gemma smirks as she decides this is Jax's first step in getting over the girl that he had loved. Soon, he'd forget all about her.

Jax keeps looking straight ahead as he rides through town towards the tattoo shop. If he looks left, he'll see the ice cream place where Tara would always get chocolate ice cream with a cherry on top, then steal his off the top of his cone just because she could. If he looks right, he'll see the diner, where she would order extra fries and then never finish them all.

Too many memories are wrapped up in this town. And all of them are with her. Even his bike feels funny, as though it had been accustomed to her weight on the back of it. He just wants things to get back to normal, but they won't. They never will, because the woman he thought he would build the rest of his life with has disappeared.

Opie is waiting for him at the tattoo shop, sunglasses covering his eyes, arms folded. Jax pulls up and backs his bike in next to Opie. He gets off, hanging his helmet on his handlebars and walking up to Opie.

"No Donna?" He comments.

"You know how she feels about this stuff." He mutters and Jax knows that Opie didn't bring Donna because she's a reminder that the girl that should be there for Jax is gone. However, he appreciates the lie that Opie is telling him. He claps him on the shoulder and they walk in.

"Jax, Opie." A rail thin man with a scraggly beard say, walking over and hugging them both.

"Hey, Boots." Jax says and he leads them to the back of the shop.

"Got um ready last night." He says proudly, showing them the outlines of the tattoos. Jax and Opie both admire them, nodding.

"They look good Boots." Jax approves.

"Who's going first?" He asks and Opie nods to Jax. He strips his kutte and shirt off, laying down on the table. Opie sits in a chair next to him, picking up a biker magazine and flipping through it idly. Boots applies the outlines, conferring with Opie briefly about the placement, then readies the tattoo gun and leans over Jax's back.

The buzz of the tattoo gun is oddly reassuring to him. The pain is even more so. He has been in pain constantly since Tara left. He keeps replaying that moment over and over in his head, wondering what he could've possible done to make her stay. His only conclusion is that there was truly nothing to be done. She was always going to leave.

He questions what was even real in their relationship. All the 'I love you' and 'forever' that they promised to each other. Was any of it real? Did she mean a single thing she said to him? He's inclined to think no, but those moments when he's alone in his bed, he can't help but hope that she did and she's however many miles away, alone and missing him too.

Boots is a quick but precise tattoo artist and he moves onto the reaper fairly quick. Jax doesn't ask him for a break or to stop. He doesn't need it. He's always had this abnormally high pain tolerance. He gets that from his father. Besides, this has been his plan from the moment he put that kutte on.

He's always wanted this tattoo. A permanent patch. He'll have it forever. He wants it, because the club is now the one thing in his life that will remain constant forever. When his world is upside down and inside out, the club will be there to have his back. That is his home.

He almost falls asleep on the table. He is in a meditative state, mind finally focused on something other than Tara for once. He doesn't notice that Boots is going all over his back, filling in spots and things.

"Wow Jax, that was impressive." He says, leaning back and Jax gently pushes himself off the table, walking over to the full-length mirror. Opie hands him another mirror so Jax can see the tattoo. He admires it for a long moment, then turns around and clasps Boots' hands.

"Thank you." He says sincerely and Boots nods, gesturing for Opie to lay down. Jax spins a chair around so he doesn't lean his back against anything and sits down to admire Boots as he works.

Tattoos have always fascinated Jax. He loved to inspect them in the men of the club, especially the ones who were from other charters. He learned from a young age not to be scared of the reapers, the monsters, the demons and devils that adorned the arms, chests, and backs of the men that rode into the club.

He knows that he'll likely be covered into tattoos. That's this lifestyle and none of them are immune to it. Hell, even Tara had gotten a tattoo; the same time he had honored his father, she had put that crow on her back. He thought this had bonded them. He thought something on her skin forever meant he would be in her heart forever. But tattoos are permanent. People are not.

Opie takes longer than Jax, but the end result is the same. Two extremely fresh tattoos. They stand side by side, looking in the mirror, both quiet and thinking about what this means. They've gotten the patch on their back, forever. The symbol of the club their fathers founded.

"Brother." Opie says quietly and Jax looks at him, smiling slowly.

"Brother." He agrees. It's a reassurance that the club will be there. He made the right choice when he picked it.

Even if the pain of losing Tara is still worse than the pain of his back.

* * *

 _How little boys of Charming see Samcro_

"Mason, Johnny, behave!" A mom yells at the two boys streak past, whooping at the top of their lungs and brandishing water pistols. They ignore her completely, continuing on their destructive path across the fundraiser.

"Whoa, easy." Another mom says, lifting a tray of food up over her head so that they don't crash into it.

"Sorry!" Johnny calls over his shoulder, as they continue their run.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Mason says, skidding to a stop and holding his arm out to stop Johnny. He looks at his friend, confused as to why they're not continuing with their game.

"C'mon." He says, shooting Mason in the face. He frowns and wipes it off, then points up near the school.

"Look." He urges and Johnny turns.

"Whoa." He breathes. A bunch of men are laughing and smoking, ringed around in a circle. There is a reason why they look so cool- each is wearing a leather vest, with the reaper on the back. It's a symbol that has become instantly identifiable to anyone in Charming.

"Let's get closer." Mason urges and Johnny nods, and they inch their way towards the men, trying to act natural and avoid attracting attention.

"Look at their rings." Johnny whispers and they both admire the thick gold and silver rings. Johnny looks down at his own fingers, wishing he had some rings on them, adorned in skulls and guns.

"Which bike do you like best?" Mason asks him and Johnny looks up at him, then follows Mason's line of sight to the row of bikes. With hardly a second glance, they take off for the bikes.

They inspect each one closely, marveling at the shiny chrome and immaculate details on each. Johnny knows enough to look but not touch. The Sons are a legacy in this town and it's rules have seeped into the culture and fabric of the town, whether anyone has realized it or not.

"I like this one." He announces to Mason. Mason looks up from the bike he's looking at with raised eyebrows.

"It's so white." He observes and Johnny shrugs.

"I like that it looks different." He says defensively and Mason shrugs.

"This one's my favorite." He decides and Johnny walks over to inspect the bike. Mason is looking longingly at the design on the side, the words 'Sons of Anarchy', with a gun and huge blade behind it.

"I can't wait to own a bike like this someday." Johnny mutters and Mason glances at the clump of men, still laughing and exchanging a cigarette.

"How you know you're gonna be one of those guys?" He asks and Johnny shrugs, walking to inspect the designs on all the bikes.

"Cause they're the coolest thing in all of Charming. What else am I gonna be?" He wonders aloud.

"Like the bikes?" An amused voice says and the boys jump, turning around and looking up guilty at the man who is looking down at them, arms folded. In a split second, both boys register the leather vest; the tattoo covered arms, the Mohawk and tattoos on his head. He's a Son.

"Sorry." Johnny says instantly. "We promise we didn't touch them, we just wanted to look."

"There was no touching?" The man asks, raising his eyebrows and Mason and Johnny nod furiously. He nods seriously, mulling it over. "Then which one's your favorite?"

"This one." Mason says, recovering faster than Johnny. He points to the bike in front of him and the man grins, relaxing.

"Good kid. That's my bike." He reveals and both boys look at him, awed. "Either of you know anything about bikes?" He asks and they both shake their heads, too stunned to say anything. "Well, mine's a Harley Dyna." He says and Johnny swallows hard.

"Don't you… Don't you... Have to have a Harley to be in the Sons?" He asks and the man raises his eyebrows, impressed.

"Yeah, you do. Mine's the best." He says, laughing slightly. "But we've all got some pretty cool stuff on ours… Look, this is where my iPod goes." He says, pointing and Mason leans in, interested.

"Can you hear it when you ride?" He asks and the man nods, plugging it in. He plays the first couple seconds of a song, then flips it off. "I can turn it all the way up on the road. Drives the guys nuts." He says.

"What's the fastest you've ever gone?" Johnny asks and he chuckles, shaking his head.

"Pretty fast. You shouldn't ever go that fast." He says, amused.

"My dad said that once a guy was going 110 and he hit a deer and he flew like, 100 yards." Mason says and Johnny elbows him to shut him up. The man seems more amused than anything.

"You gotta watch out for shit when you're going that fast." He says wisely and both boys nod.

"Juice!" Someone yells and the man looks at the clump of men. One waves his hand and the man, Juice, grins down at them, then ruffles their hair affectionately, giving each a pat on the head.

"Have fun." He says, then jogs over and joins the other bikers. Mason looks at Johnny with wide eyes.

"Holy shit." He says and Johnny nods, his own eyes as big as a plate.

"We gotta tell Michael and Tommy tomorrow." He says, admiring the bikes one more time.

"I'm gonna be a Son when I grow up." Mason says and Johnny falls in step with him as they wander back to the fundraiser.

"Me too." He says thoughtfully. "And I'm gonna get a tattoo of the skull right here." He gestures to his bicep.

"I'm gonna get mine on my chest." Mason announces and they fall into squabbling about which is cooler.

"Who were the kids?" Tig asks Juice, handing him the cigarette.

"Just a couple kids looking at the bikes. One thought mine was pretty badass." He says proudly and Tig rolls his eyes.

"Focus Juice, we got shit to do."

* * *

 _Kyle choose fire. What each Son would pick_

Clay would choose knife.

This club is his life. It has been, since he found it. He found a place where his anger was accepted, allowed, even cherished. A place where he could be vicious and brutal and no one would bat an eye. A place where he had brothers to watch his back and protect him like he would protect them. He found his wife here. His Gemma, his queen. He couldn't help but love her, a woman who is as cunning and scheming as he is. He has put his life into this club, running guns and doing what needs to be done when things go south. He has never been scared of anything the club has thrown at him. He has welcomed it with open arms. He could never imagine not having this club. And if he were going to have to lose it, they would have to cut it from his very skin.

Piney would choose knife.

There was a time in Vietnam, where he saw nothing but fire. When there was a wall of flames and it was coming for him. He had no way of escape, he couldn't avoid it. He resigned himself to dying; he had felt the intense heat and closed his eyes, figuring that if he died here, he would go without having to see hell. When he opened them again, he was safe and fine; he had been carried away by his brothers. He was safe. When he returned to the states, he had dreams every night about that wall of fire, that no one would carry him away from it and he would die. That's why he chooses the club. Here are brothers, like the ones that had carried him away from death. More men that would do the same for him. And he cherishes them and the kutte and what it means. So if he is to lose his brothers, he will not do it by the very thing that brought his to these men.

Bobby would choose fire.

He doesn't know why he would pick it. But the idea of a knife slicing through his skin and ripping the tattoos from him would be too much. There's something about fire, that even though he would have these scars, that deep down, maybe there would still be some part of his skin that would bear his commitment to the club. He's put his entire life in the club, he's given up his wife and kids because the club has always been more important. That's been the love of his life. The club won't leave him or blackmail him or guilt him. They will support him always. So he wants the odds that deep under the burns, it would still be the skin the bore the reaper.

Tig would choose knife.

He's comfortable with knives. He always has been. His grew up in a small household, where he was expected to pull his weight at a young age. He taught himself to fight, to cook, and how to handle a knife. Pain doesn't scare him. That never has either. He got use to it, growing up tough. That's why he loves the club so much, because it understands and accepts him, giving him like-minded people who don't comment that he can throw and wield a knife with ease. So the idea of a knife carving into him doesn't scare him. Not much scares Tig. But the one thing that does is the wonder of what he would look like without those tattoos, without this club.

Chibs would choose fire.

He hates knives. He hates what they represent to him now. He hates that one moment shifted his life forever. To him, knives represent his weakness. They represent his family and how they are lost to him. Nothing in his life will ever be as formative an influence as that. His entire life is defined as before and after that moment, before when he was a husband and a father, and after, when he lost all that in one fell swoop. Samcro rescued him from that pain, they gave him a purpose and a reason, they gave him back a desire to live and sparked a flame of revenge in his heart. He cannot thank them enough for that, because if it weren't for them he would have nothing, nothing at all. He will not let another family be taken from him at the hands of a man with a knife.

Opie would choose fire.

He has never been scared of fire. That's why he was always the one with the dynamite. Opie was the man with firepower. Whereas Jax handled his gun with ease, Opie felt that same comfort in fire. So for him, that option seems far less painful, even though he knows how awful a fire can be. Part of him thinks that maybe he's immune to fire. That it won't hurt him like others. He knows it's ridiculous and far-fetched. But some part of him is sure that it's true. This club has been a part of his life and blood since he was in the womb, so if he is going to leave it, he wants to make sure that his body shows what this club was to him and what he was to this club.

Jax would choose knife.

There has never been a moment of his life when he hasn't been Samcro. It's been expected of him, always. Even with Tara in his life, asking him to pick a different path, he has never been able to shake the idea that this place is exactly where he is meant to be. His tattoos were a natural step in this line for him, just a progression from the rings, the knife, the kutte. They're a way to symbolize his allegiance to the club, to show that he is committed to carrying on his father's work. Whether that is the father that encouraged writing or the father that encouraged guns, he has yet to decide. He knows one thing for certain however. This club is his life, his birthright. If he is going to leave it, he wants all traces of it gone from his skin, but he will never be able to cut or burn out the blood of a Teller that runs through his veins.

Juice would choose fire.

Juice needs this club. He has never belonged anywhere in his entire life, not at home with distant family members who didn't understand an energetic little boy who tried so desperately to please them. Not his teachers, who mistook his energy for disrespect and hated him, despite the fact he just wanted to participate and learn everything that they had to offer. Samcro took him in. They gave him the praise he so badly wanted. They gave him a home and a purpose and for that he would do anything. He knows sometimes men don't survive the fire. That would be favorable fate for him, because without his club he is nothing.

 **AN:** Happy New Year to everyone. A little bit more outsider prospective, since that was suggested. Plus a little look into the heads of our favorite men... Thank you for reading, please leave me a review!


	6. Season 1- AK-51

Episode 6: AK-51

 _Gemma's thoughts about Cherry_

She slumps against the well of the office, gasping and trying her best not to cry. She hasn't cried in years and not over a man. But this time is different and she can't keep her pain in. A cry escapes her and she loathes how weak and pathetic she sounds. She hates herself for breaking down.

She knew the time would come that someone younger and prettier than her would catch Clay's attention. She knew what kind of man he was when she married him. But there was some form of power in making him love her. She got a rush from knowing that he wanted her and that no one else could have her.

Who is this tart, to come in and try to take her man? The balls of her to come to Charming. Gemma's town. This is her palace. She is queen here. Clay can fuck whomever he wants on the road, he can fall asleep face down in pussy if he wants to. But not here. No one comes here without Gemma's permission. This is her domain. And this is a slap in her face.

She doesn't want to confront the idea that maybe this was inevitable. That there was always gonna be some girl that would take her position over. She thought it would come in the form of Jax's old lady. Tara had been her biggest worry for a long time, but she had never dreamed that anyone in her lifetime would dare dream of making a move.

She should've known. She's getting older. She's not that same girl that caught John Teller's eye and then Clay Morrow's. She knows what happen when the women get old. They're used up. They've lost the ability to satisfy their man. Gemma never thought that would ever happen, not to her, but here she is.

She has no idea what to do. This has never happened to her before. Whenever Clay would stray, she would remind him who he married with a swing of her hips and a wink. That was her power over them. If she doesn't have that, what does she have? Nothing.

She takes a deep breath and stands up. She reminds herself that she is Gemma Teller and she takes no shit. If this whore thinks that she can come into Charming and take over, she's dead wrong. This has been Gemma's town for too many years for her to go graciously.

She gathers up her purse and keys, ignoring the ringing phone and anyone in the shop. She's got shit to do. If she's going to keep Clay in his place, she needs to step up to that little slut's level.

* * *

 _18 year old Gemma "Disorderly Conduct. I was piss drunk. I think there might've been an assault charge."_

Gemma Madock takes a deep breath. She's struggling to keep calm in this moment; mostly because she is not nearly drunk enough to handle what is happening. She knows that she really shouldn't try to fight anyone tonight. She doesn't need it and her reputation doesn't need it.

But the hoe at the end of the bar keeps inching closer to the man Gemma is here with and she is well aware how distracting those perky boobs can be on an idiot male. She's not in the mood to try and show off any more than she already has today. Everything is a damn competition and she always has to win, but for once, she wished she could sit it out.

"No." She says flatly to the man who opens his mouth to talk to her. He narrows his eyes.

"Slut." He mutters under his breath and she looks at him, arching one eyebrow with remarkable precision.

"Excuse you?" She demands. The loud thunk of two beers being set in front of her by the bartender makes both of them look. She picks them up and casts a disgusted look at the man before heading back to her man.

"What took you so damn long?" He demands.

"Ask the bartender, asshole." Gemma states and he slaps her ass, guzzling the beer. Gemma throws a satisfied look towards the blonde skank and perches herself on a stool, arranging herself so her boobs are on display.

She looks around warily for any girls. She's been to this bar before. She's been left in this bar before, trying to figure out how to get home when home is some guy with another girl in his bed.

She tries not to get mad about it. This is her life. She's chosen it and even if it's sitting on a barstool well past closing, it is better than living under her mother's thumb and the oppressive, ever watchful eye of the congregation. She'd rather be walking to the rundown motel down the street from the bar and trying to negotiate a room than be at home, in her room.

"Gemma." The man says loudly and she turns to look at him. "What the fuck are you looking at?" He cranes his neck around her and sees the blonde that Gemma has been keeping her eye on.

"What?" She asks defensively, jutting her chin out and straightening up.

"What guy is it then?" He sneers, a mean glint in his drunken eyes. "Which dick you wanna go ride?"

"Yours baby." She says soothingly, trying to put her hand on his waist. He smacks it away.

"Tell me you little whore." He whispers, grabbing her wrist and squeezing. She tries to tug her arm back but he digs in tighter and she has to bit her lip to keep back a gasp of pain.

"Blonde girl." She says with gritted teeth and some of the pressure lessens slightly as he squints over Gemma's shoulder. "Nice tits." Gemma says, hoping she'll get her wrist back. He slackens even more and she yanks it back.

"She's a nice piece of ass I'll give you that much." He says admiringly.

"Well then how about the three of us?" Gemma suggests but he's mostly ignoring her now, watching the blonde greedily. Gemma feels her heart sink but a moment later she straightens up, rage replacing where her heart once was.

"Go home." He grunts, slapping some cash down towards her direction, still watching the blonde. Gemma gaps at him, then rolls her eyes, grabbing the cash and finishing her beer.

"Fat ass low life." She mutters, shoving it in her purse, her cheeks flaming red and a deep sense of shame crawling in her stomach. She takes a deep breath then watches as the blonde gets up and makes her way towards the spot Gemma left, with a smirk and swinging hips. Gemma watches, her vision stained red.

She isn't sure how she's made her way back across the bar. All she knows is that she's standing behind the blonde, listening as she laughs and flirts, throwing back a shot and leaning forward, her mouth landing on his. When they separate and his hand is on her chest, one thought runs through Gemma's head.

Not tonight.

She reaches up and yanks the blonde hair as hard as she can, pulling the girl right off the stool. She screams and the entire bar turns at the high-pitched noise but Gemma is already punching her face, unable to control her anger as she uses her fists to express her fury at the world, at the men that discard her when better tits and an ass come along, at everything and everyone.

Someone tries to pull her off but she fights them right back. Everyone that comes within her range is subjected to punches, kicks, bites, scratching, anything in her arsenal. She's finally pulled away by a man twice her size and she's still thrashing in his arms when the red and blue lights arrive.

She sits in a holding cell, rubbing her temples and cataloging her bruises. Her hangover is worse than the scraps. She just wants some sleep on something that isn't a cot and a gallon of water. The thing that hurts the worst is her broken pride. No one came and bailed her out. No one tried to free her. These bars are worst than any lasting punch.

"Gemma Madock." A loud voice says and flinching, she looks up. "You're free to go." She sits up as the door to her cell swings open.

"Who posted my bail?" She asks.

"Charges were dropped. The drunk and disorderly would've stuck, but just get out of here." He says, annoyed and Gemma gathers her things, striding out of the cell with her head held high. "And try not to wind up back in here." He yells and she rolls her eyes.

That's unlikely.

She sits on the bench, counting the money she has. It's enough for a bus ticket to somewhere new and a pack of smokes. Glancing at the diner down the way, she ignores the rumbling in her stomach and decides that a gas station and the bus stop of the next best thing for her.

* * *

 _Tara and Jax on his bike_

Jax strides into the hospital, throwing his charming smile towards the nurse. She blushes and nods, not even bothering to stop him. He's not sure if it's because of his looks or because she recognizes him from all his visits to Abel. He hopes it's the latter. He rounds a corner and sees Tara.

Even after all these years, the sight of her still takes his breath away. Her smooth and dark hair that she tangles onto the top of her head when she's busy or stressed. Her pale and smooth skin, that he knows will smell faintly like the lotion she used her entire life, since any other kind will irate her sensitive skin. He hates that he knows and remembers these things about her and that they will rush back to him at the mere sight of her.

She sees him and approaches him with a smile. He has a nagging feeling that he should keep going to his son but he's never been able to ignore Tara. He wishes he could toss her a smile and a nod like he does every other woman, but that's not possible. Not with Tara. Not ever.

"Do you mind giving me a ride home?" Tara asks quietly once she's close enough, and Jax's eyebrows immediately furrow. Tara hasn't asked him for a favor in years, much less one as personal as this.

"Sure. What's going on?" He asks with concern and she shakes her head.

"Shitty day. My nerves are kinda shot." She says easily. Jax nods, not pressing her. If it were serious enough, Tara would explain to him. Since she isn't, either she's telling the truth or she'll have a better lie ready for him later. He reaches out and touches her shoulder.

"Well, I'll be with the kid." He explains and she nods, smiling.

"Thanks." She walks away and Jax watches her, worry in his eyes. He makes his way to Abel, smiling when he sees the little baby in his blue hat. His son. He leans against the machine slightly.

"Hey little man." He mutters. "How's life in there? Don't get too comfy. I think Grandma is gonna wanna take you out of there soon. She's been itching to hold you. You don't wanna keep her waiting, trust me." He chuckles and picks up a book that Gemma must've left, settling into the chair.

"Hey." Tara says awhile later, sticking her head around the door. She's changed out of her scrubs and back into normal people clothes.

"Ready?" He asks and she nods, looking at Abel. "See you later buddy." Jax says quietly, resting a hand on the incubator and then following Tara towards the exit. "Hey." He says, before they reach the doors. "Are you sure everything it ok?" He asks, searching her face for any signs.

"Yeah." She says quietly and pushes the door open. Something seems to alarm her, because her eyes go wide and she takes an instinctive step towards Jax's large frame.

"Tara." Jax says and she just walks towards his bike. Jax is momentarily breathless at the view. It's so reminiscent of his youth, it stuns him. Tara and his bike, like he thought it always would be. She had always led him to his bike, usually when he was fighting and she was done with it, or when she wanted to go home and he was happy to oblige.

He hands her a spare helmet and she buckles it. He gets on the bike and she swings her leg over it with a practiced eased. Some things will always be muscle memory. Tara tightens her arms around his waist. It's a sensation he's felt so many times in his life, but the way she does it is special.

Most girls squeeze him when the bike roars the life, as though they're excited. Tara's is lighter, more of a reminder that she's there. As with everything with her, his first and longest memories are tangled up with her. How when he got his first bike, he never would've thought he would come to love how it felt to have her on the back. How the best nights were the ones where they rode together, under the biggest expanse of stars he's ever seen. And he never thought that when she left, his bike would feel so off, like it too remembered her weight.

He retired that bike to storage a couple years after she left. He couldn't ride it anymore. His explanation to Opie and his mother and the rest of the club was that it was time for an upgrade, which most of them accepted without hesitation. He had money, it only seemed right that he get a new and customized bike. Opie knew the truth, and likely his mother did too. His first bike just wasn't his. It was Tara's too and when Jax realized she wasn't coming back, the bike became just another reminder of that.

"You alright?" He asks, looking back at her and she nods quickly. He doesn't want to press it. She's always told him in her own sweet time. Or at least, she did. She rests her head on the nape of his neck as he pulls out of the parking lot. The sensation sends chills down his body. Another Tara thing that will never not be associated with her.

A silver car pulls out behind them, following them the couple blocks towards Tara's house before taking a left. Jax notes the make and model before arriving at Tara's house and killing the bike in the driveway.

"Appreciate the lift." She says, getting off and handing him the helmet back.

"No problem." Jax says, looking around and noting the lack of a car. "Where's the Cutlass?" He asks.

"At the hospital." She says dismissively and that makes him frown even more. Tara wouldn't leave that car if she didn't have to.

"Still not running right?" He pushes and she pauses, looking back at him.

"It's running ok." She says uneasily. Jax glances over his shoulder, some pieces coming into place.

"This worry I'm getting here, that have anything to do with the car that's been following us?" He asks pointedly. Tara looks around. "Compact, parked half a block from here." He explains. Tara glances over her shoulder and takes a couple steps back automatically. She strides towards her house. Jax is both desperate to have her stay and angry that she walks away from him so easily when he would never have been able to do the same. "Tara!" He protests, following her. "What the hell is going on?"

"That ATF Agent," She says, stopping her attempt to open the door. "That's been looking into you guys. I think he's here for me." She states and he is bewildered.

"What are you talking about?" He asks.

"I was with him. In Chicago. It got violent, I tried to end it, he starting stalking me." She explains and Jax is torn between jealousy at the idea of her with someone else and concern for her wellbeing. In the end, the man he was at 16 wins out and he turns, walking towards the compact. "Jax!" She calls and he ignores her. He's got something to say.

 **AN:** Wow, a kinda Gemma-centric chapter. It's so interesting to go back and watch her in the early seasons, once you've seen what she becomes... And a little Jax/Tara cause I love them. I love when you guys give me suggestions- Clay and Gemma's wedding will be coming up soon, some more background on the guys, more insight on their thoughts... Let me know what you think, thanks for reading!


	7. Season 1- Old Bones

Episode 7: Old Bones

 _David Hale's history with Tara_

"I need to talk to Tara Knowles." Hale informs the front desk and the nurse looks past him, checking the clock.

"You can try to doctor's lounge in the NICU. This is her break, so she's usually napping." The nurse informs and Hale frowns. It's midday. He thanks the nurse and proceeds to the NICU, asking for directions to the lounge and pushing the last door open.

Sure enough, there lies Tara, asleep on the couch in what looks like a terribly cramped and uncomfortable position. Hale wonders if she feels safer sleeping here than she does at home. Here, Kohn can't do anything. At home, he can. He takes a deep breath, pausing before waking her up. It's probably likely that she needs the sleep.

He's known Tara since she was small. They all grew up together, Jax, Tara, Hale, Opie, the rest. For a town Charming's size, it would be strange if they didn't share at least a little history. He just remembers it a little differently than the others do, that he knows.

Tara doesn't remember that they went to the same elementary school. She only knows that Hale is a grade younger than her. He spent his early years with his group of athletic friends, but something about her caught his eye. The way she held herself after her mother's death, how no amount of bullying could ever seem to affect her. She'd bury her nose is her book and block out the entire world and he would never be able to reach her.

Their differences split even more in high school, when he watched her break out of her shell bit by bit. He was busy making himself a star athlete, hoping that maybe that would catch her attention, but she was snatched away by SAMCRO so fast it made his head spin.

She used to come to his football games sometimes. He hated that she would be tucked into the side of Jackson Teller, the thug and biker. He'd be on the field and she'd be laughing and sharing a cigarette with Jax. He had a habit of pretending that she was watching him, pretending that Jax had disappeared and he was free to try and love Tara.

When Jax left school, he figured he had his shot. But despite his best efforts, that hadn't worked. In school, Tara had resumed her defensive book tendencies. If he tried to talk to her, he usually got a smile and a nod, before she would raise the book once more. Outside of school, she had her protective SAMCRO escort.

And then she left, right before his senior year. Right before he was going to tell her that he wanted her to leave Jax. She had disappeared off to college and it was the talk of the town. He heard all about it from his classmates, who sprouted rumors that she was pregnant, that Jax made her leave, that they had killed a man together, the things high school students came up with.

He watches her sleep for a long moment. She deserves better. Better than Jax Teller and Kohn, her stalker. He doesn't allow himself to slip into the daydream that had begun when he decided to be an officer. The daydream of her being his wife. Coming home to her cooking and a smile on her sweet face. Maybe a baby on her hip, cooing at him.

If she can't love him, that's fine. He's been dealing with that since high school. But it's always been his duty to protect her from the awfulness of the world. He once thought that meant SAMCRO and Jax, but that's taken a backseat to Kohn and the danger he possesses. The least he can do is give her the power to feel safe again. That's enough for him right now.

* * *

 _Clay's thoughts on Abel_

"We should split up." Jax suggests quietly as they enter the hospital. "If Tara sees all three of us, she'll know something's up."

"Tig, with Jax." Clay orders. "I'll go see the kid. Meet me there when you're done." Jax and Tig nod, splitting off from him. Clay slowly makes his way by memory to Abel's room, slowly pushing the door open and walking towards the incubator, watching as Abel breathes.

He's never been comfortable around kids, especially babies. That's why he was so glad by the time he married Gemma, Jax was a teenager, more likely to be out of the house than in it. But at least any of the babies born in the past, to Bobby or Tig or whoever had been bigger than this.

Gemma talks about Abel with such a high reverence, Clay half thinks the kid could survive due to her strong will alone. Lord knows sometimes he does. But Clay isn't as convinced as Gemma is about the survival of the little boy.

This baby isn't his blood, even though he pretends that he is. It's not Morrow blood in his genes, it's Teller. Even so, this fragile form represents Clay's future as much as any flesh and blood heir could. Jax is his adopted son, making Abel his adopted grandson. He feels protective of the little boy, just as he once felt protective of Jax. Abel will run the MC one day, that fact is as much carved into stone. All he has to do is get there.

"You better be getting bigger." He mutters, feeling odd to be talking to the sleeping baby. "I need you healthy before we can toughen you up, you got that? Cause this world out here, shit hits the fan and you have to deal with it." He says gruffly and Abel shifts slightly.

Clay falls silent, not sure if he should keep talking. Abel looks bigger than the last time he visited, but that was a while ago. Gemma visits enough for the both of them and Jax combined. He looks a little bit stronger too, more of a pink to his skin tone than that awful, sickly blue.

It's an odd thing, Clay realizes. That all of his blood, sweat, and tears have gone into a club that rests on the shoulders of a tiny infant who wasn't even meant to live through his first night on this Earth. That when he is gone, Jax will take over and mentor this little boy just like JT and Clay both did to him. He'll teach him to shoot and ride and fight and drink, just like Jax once learned.

"I wonder if I'll be here to see that or if they'll pull me out of a hole someday, when you're all grown up." He muses darkly. That's been his life for so long, he somehow can't see any other endgame to this life. He won't die an old man, in his recliner, with grey hair and no teeth. He's going to go out swinging, not matter the cost. He stares at Abel, wondering if the tiny, prone boy knows that this will be his world outside his little bubble.

He thinks about his regrets in life, if he should've had his own children, one's that had his features and his last name. If he's had grandchildren from them, if they would be the ones to carry on SAMCRO and not the line of Teller. What if Morrow was the legacy of SAMCRO? But he's made plenty of choices in his life, some good and some awful, but at least they brought him here. And he doesn't think he regrets that.

* * *

 _Gemma decorating Abel's room_

Gemma stands in the wreckage of Abel's room, staring at it in shock. She's not sure if she's more distressed that someone has managed to break into Jax's house or if it's because someone has so carelessly wrecked the room she spent painstaking ages putting together. From the moment that she had been informed that she was a grandma months early, this room had been her safe haven.

(-)

She walks into the store, purse swinging and sunglasses obscuring her fact. With pursed lips, she slides her sunglasses on top of her head and glancing around with barely restrained disgust.

"Can I help you?" A perky woman with a braid asks, approaching Gemma as though it's the last possible thing she wants to do. Gemma appraises her then nods.

"I'm decorating my grandson's room." She informs her and the woman brightens instantly.

"Oh, congratulations! Do you know what he's going to be named?" She asks and Gemma looks at her sideways.

"His name is Abel." She states flatly.

"Oh, well we have a wide selection of items. Anything specific that you're looking for?" She asks, guiding Gemma towards bibs and blankets.

"All of it." Gemma announces and the woman looks at her in surprise.

"Well, at least you have plenty of time to get the nursery set up." The woman tries in vain to keep the conversation going as she leads Gemma towards the back where there's a large display of cribs.

"Actually, hopefully less than a couple months. At least, that's if he can come home from the hospital by that time." Gemma says and the saleswoman goes pale, backing off. Gemma smirks and begins inspecting the cribs. When she's found one she likes, she marks it off and heads towards the decorations.

She inspects the ducks and bunnies that make up the vast majority of prints, making a face. None of this will do for a little boy still in the hospital, fighting for every second. He's stronger than a silly, bug-eyed frog. Frowning, she looks for anything that contains a motorcycle.

"Hi, can I help you?" Another sickly sweet voice asks and Gemma turns, spotting an older lady. The other worker seems to be hiding behind the counter, busying herself with papers.

"Yeah." Gemma says, straightening up. "You got any stuff that has motorcycles on it?"

"Motorcycles?" The woman asks, as though she hasn't heard Gemma correctly. Gemma rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, like Harley-Davidson." She says and the woman's eyebrows furrows in confusion.

"We have trains and airplanes." She says, gesturing to pictures in frames. "But motorcycles… No."

"Well what's the point then?" Gemma says tartly and the lady retreats to the counter. Gemma continues her shopping, choosing light blue and green bedding, a couple pictures, and for good measure, one of an airplane. She approaches the counter before something catches her eye.

Letters are stacked on a shelf, varying in their size and color. She pauses, reaching down and picking up an A, tracing the shape. Suddenly, she's gripped with a fierce desire to provide this little boy with everything that his junkie mother can't. She will love this little boy more than anything in the world. She gathers the other three letters and sets everything on the counter.

"Quite the purchase." The older lady remarks. Gemma quirks one eyebrow then jerks her thumb over her shoulder towards the cribs.

"There'll be some guys here later to pick that up. Make sure they get the third from the left, not any other." She orders.

"How will we know who they are?" The lady asks and Gemma gives a humorless little laugh.

"He'll look like he's married to me honey." She remarks, handing them her credit card and watching as they ring her items up. "One last thing." She says, grabbing her bags. "Where the hell can I find some damn motorcycles?" Sliding her sunglasses down her face, she leaves the store.

She sits in the middle of the nursery, smiling at her day's work. The crib is set up, thanks in no small part to a lot of bribery on her part towards Juice and Half Sack. But it's there, ready whenever Abel is. His letters hang above it. An undecorated dresser sits against one wall and Gemma is musing on where to put the rocking chair, but for day one, it's looking ok.

"Hey." A soft voice says, pushing the door open. She looks up.

"Hey." She says quietly as Jax walks in, looking around, eyebrows raised as he appraises her hard work.

"No wonder you weren't at TM today." He comments and she shrugs.

"Your son is gonna need a room." She says pointedly and he ignores the jab, instead focusing on the crib.

"Doesn't this need one of those... Things?" He asks, gesturing in circles above the crib.

"It's called a mobile." Gemma tells him and he nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. "And that's a trip for another day. The place I went today had bitchy women in it. I might have to order stuff online." She muses. "I want him to grow up with motorcycles, you know? Like you did." She says and he nods, quietly running his hands over a blanket.

"He might not even see this stuff." He says quietly and Gemma stands, fire blazing in her eyes.

"Don't you dare say that." She warns and Jax bobs his head to appease her. She relaxes somewhat. "Where you want the rocking chair?" She asks and he moves around the room a couple times, then points to the corner across from the crib.

"It'll be close enough that he'll fall back asleep once I lay him down, right?" He asks and a faint smirk crosses her face.

"Yeah baby, we'll put it there." She agrees.

(-)

"Jesus Gem, how much stuff did you get?" Tig complains, as the deliveryman offloads several large boxes into the driveway.

"You don't know how much a baby needs Tiggy, you never stuck around long enough to figure that all out." She snarls back and he makes a face at her, but goes to get the boxes. "That's the rocking chair, put it in the corner!" She calls.

"Gemma, we got shit to do." Bobby protests, carrying his own oversized box into the house.

"Not today." Gemma says smoothly. She keeps a watchful eye as more items are assembled and placed.

"Can we go now?" Juice whines and Gemma aims a hammer towards his head in a wide swing. He ducks it easily, grinning, and they all scatter. She remains where she is, sorting clothes and putting them in drawers, smiling at the sight of tiny socks. It's been so long since she's had this.

"Is there ever a time you're not here?" Jax asks, entering the room.

"Someone has to get this room ready and if I left it to you, Abel would be 16 before you ever got around to it." She says and Jax rolls his eyes, examining the drawer full of socks.

"Ma, he can't even walk yet. He's not gonna go through three pairs of socks a day." He says, exasperated and Gemma just rolls her eyes. "I got him something." He announces and she looks up at him, surprised. He hands her a bag and frowning, she opening it.

"Jackson…" She says softly, realizing what it is. It's a mobile, motorcycles dangling from each string. She stands and attaches it to the crib, gently spinning it so they dance.

"I figured he'd need one, and I saw this in a store, so I thought…" He trails off, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'm sure when Abel gets home, he'll love it." She reassures him.

(-)

She stares in fury at the damage done. After all that she's done to make Abel's room a home and now her hard work has been ruined. This little boy has had it bad enough to begin with; he deserves a sanctuary to rest in. And lord help whoever did this, because if Gemma doesn't kill him, Jax or Clay will.

* * *

 _Jax with his hood up on the steps thinking about Tara_

"She fears for her life, so she comes back home to the only man she knows loves her enough to protect her. A guy who would have no problem putting a fed through a plate glass window." The words keep ringing through Jax's head. All the way out of the station, on his drive following the police car out of town, and back to the clubhouse.

Whatever that ATF bitch had said had just been to push his buttons. She was just trying to get under his skin like every other fed had. He cringes as his leg twinges with faint pain. But there's been one thing on his mind since he sat in that interrogation room.

She's not wrong.

He's loved Tara more than anything in the entire world for as long as he's known her. And she knows that. He's always been the one to protect her and he took pride in that, when he was younger.

When she was 16 and her father was piss drunk, Jax had walked in on him in a rage, throwing things at Tara in the kitchen. A rage like no other had overtaken him. He had tackled the man and had proceed to beat him into such a state that Tara had to pull him away from her father, screaming.

When she was 17, Jax had convinced her to come to a dive bar with him, so he could meet with some bikers for a deal Clay was trying to run. While he was talking business, she had gone to the bathroom and was instead ambushed by a drunk male who groped her. When Jax had spotted her struggling to push him away, he left mid-conversation to pull her away and knock the man out.

The same went for any drunken guy at a party who said something crude. All Tara had to do was look mildly scared and some part of Jax's brain went into overdrive, where the only thing he knew how to do was eliminate that threat to her as fast as he could.

The devastation when she went to school was massive. Some part of his heart had been ripped out from his chest. The worst, however, wasn't the fact that she was no longer there, to smile up at him or tuck herself into his side. He readjusted to his life without her physical presence.

The worst was wondering if she was all right. If she was scared or angry or mad or hurt or lonely. She could be trying to fend off guys. Jax knows what it's like for a woman as beautiful as her. She catches the eye of every guy in the place and though he knows that her time with him made her a fighter, it's not in her nature. It's in his. He was the one to fight for her.

He is still fighting for her, though maybe she can't see it. He made it well known that when she arrived back in town that SAMCRO still hovered. He didn't want her to feel stifled, but he wanted her to know that he would watch out for her. And it's not a stretch to think that she's using that to her advantage.

But what does it matter? It's not like this changes his feelings towards her. He's always going to love her, which means that when someone threatens her, he'll react to it. He doesn't want to use this to force her back to him. He just wants her safe, because he's sure that if she ever dies, it will be much worse than not knowing if she's safe or not.

Her car pulls up and he puts out his cigarette, pulling his hood down. He doesn't know why he's here really. Hale would've told her that Kohn has left. He doesn't want thanks for his actions or a kiss on the cheek for being brave. He just wants to reassure her himself that once again, she's safe.

Because at the end of the day, that's always been Jax Teller's job.

 **AN:** Jax/Tara, my favorite couple ever... Plus a little more look at Clay and Hale, and some crazy Gemma, cause what's an episode without her? Hope you enjoyed it, please leave me a review and tell me which was your favorite or what you want to see next. I'm excited to show you all what I have coming up in the next chapters...


	8. Season 1- The Pull

Episode 8: The Pull

 _"Somebody hurts your baby, you never get over it."_

Gemma pushes the door to Jax's room open slowly, wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming scent of unwashed socks, stale food, and sweat. Jax is passed out, face down on his bed. She smiles slightly. This is how he used to sleep as a child, after a full day.

She quietly gathers up as much dirty clothes as she can, making trips back and forth to the washer, sorting the darks and the whites into two piles. It takes three trips to get all the clothes out of his room, but he's still fast asleep when she starts with the trash.

She cleans out remnants of meals she didn't know he was making. At least he's eating, which is a step up from a week ago when she thought she'd be taking him to the hospital to shove a tube down his throat.

As she stands in the kitchen, washing dishes, she checks the time. 1:13 in the afternoon. If he doesn't wake up soon, she'll do it herself. She decides to give him another half hour and starts cooking, putting in a pizza. She switches loads of laundry and at 1:45 on the dot, bangs on his door.

"Jackson. Get up." She orders, walking into his room. He doesn't even twitch. "Jax!" She says loudly and he mumbles something incomprehensible. "Get up, I'm washing your sheets."

"No." He says instantly, lifting his head.

"Why the hell not?" She demands. "They smell awful. This whole room does. You need to go to the clubhouse so I can deep clean this entire place." She says in disgust. Jackson slowly sits up.

"I can do it." He grumbles, rubbing his face.

"Yeah right. I'll give you $100 to tell me where the washer is." She scoffs and he groans, flopping back down. "Get up. There's pizza in the oven and I'm doing your clothes."

"Just, let me do it." Jax mutters and Gemma rolls her eyes, walking out of the room. She turns to ask him if she should venture under his bed and notices that he's buried his face in a pink pillow and suddenly she understands his reaction.

The sheets must smell like her. That's why he spends the entire night at some bars or with Opie on the road, because he can't stand to sleep where she once did. Gemma feels her stomach twist in fury. She'll wash those sheets a million times if she has too.

"Hey, it's ready." She says, pointing to the food on the counter when he stumbles into the kitchen, shirtless and with tousled hair. Eyes hardly open, he takes two slices in one hand and takes a large bite. "Don't forget to swallow." She quips and he flicks her off.

"Where's Clay at?" He asks and she watches as he guzzles milk straight from the carton.

"Clubhouse. When you gonna go back there, Jackson?" She asks pointedly and he shrugs, not answering her question.

"Opie and I are going to Stockton today. He has an errand to run." Jax informs her and she narrows her eyes.

"Club shit?" She asks.

"Does it matter ma?" He asks, exasperated.

"Yes, it does." She says instantly. "You've been all turned about lately. Don't know up from down, and that bitch went from trying to get you to leave to just leaving herself-" Jax cuts her off with a sharp look.

"Don't talk about her like that." He snaps.

"I'm just saying that all you've ever wanted Jackson, is this club. It's all your father wanted for you and all I wanted… I just wanna make sure your mind is in the right place." She says soothingly.

"I…" He trails off and she sees the flash of pain in his eyes. Tara had sunk her claws in further than Gemma had realized, if her leaving has managed to affect him so hard for so long.

"Go with Op. I think it'll be a good thing." She says and he nods, taking more pizza and heading to his room. When he emerges, he's wearing his kutte and the knife his father once wore. Gemma holds back a faint smile of pride as he finishes off the pizza and kisses her cheek.

"Thanks for lunch." He calls, as the door slams shut. The bike roars out of the driveway and Gemma waits for the noise to fade before going back into his room and stripping his bed. The sheets and pillowcases are dumped into the laundry room.

She cleans every nook and cranny of the room, finding more panties than she ever wanted to, plus mementos of Jax's relationship to Tara- photos, ticket stubs to movies and concerts, even what she's sure are a pair of Tara's jean shorts. All of that goes into a basket outside Jax's room.

When her purge is done, she walks out into the backyard, dumping the basket into a tiny fire pit Jax and Opie had constructed one summer night, then pulls out a lighter and a cigarette. She lights the cigarette, puffing on it for a while and reflecting on Tara.

She had hurt Jax bad. Gemma knew that was a possibility when she saw how seriously Jax was considering walking away from the club for her. Gemma's son would not, in his right mind, ever even think about not being SAMCRO. Her dislike of Tara, already strong from the way she influenced Jax, was slowly growing into hatred.

Tara hurt Jax and for that, Gemma will never forgive or forget. She vows to protect Jax from things like this. That's her job, as a mother. To protect him, no matter the cost. With her mind made up and her teeth gritted, she finishes off the cigarette and drops it into the fire pit.

A photo catches fire first, spreading quickly to the tickets before growing and encompassing everything. She watches it with a satisfied smirk. Good riddance Tara Knowles.

* * *

 _First time holding Abel_

Tara reaches down into the bassinet, smiling at Abel. His big blue eyes are open, like he's been anticipating her arrival. He opens and closes his little mouth and she can't help but beam at the progress that he's made- from a tiny sickly child who barely saw the next day, let alone a birthday.

"Hi sweet boy." She says softly, gathering him into her arms, reassured by his weight. "Hi sweetie. Hello baby." She coos, bending down to gently brush her lips against his forehead. She has bonded with every baby that she has cared for, but none like Abel.

He is special, in every sense of the term. He has fought through things that would have killed any other child. He has been strong, so strong that she's in awe each and every day. She loves him, because of who his father or in spite of it, she doesn't know. But she sees Abel as hers, in a sense.

She gently walks around the corner, carrying Abel in her arms, smiling down at him then raising her gaze to Jax and Gemma. Jax's expression is a mixture of fear and happiness and something else she can't quite place. Gemma has nothing but steel in her eyes.

Jax raises his arms instinctively and she carefully transfers Abel from her arms to his. She has a sudden, deep jolt in her gut. This is where she belongs. This is what she should be doing always. She steps back from Jax like she's been shocked, the feeling so intense.

She strives to play it off as her protective instinct over Abel but even as Jax cradles his son and stares down at him in awe, she knows it's not that. It's because she spent the majority of her high school years convinced she would have a child with this man. That she would be passing babies to him.

Not in the hospital. Not a child that had a tear in his heart and his belly. She'd pass him the baby in the middle of the night, when they were both exhausted but amazed at their tiny miracle. In the kitchen, while he cooked eggs and she set the table, joking and trading the baby easily. In the supermarket, trying to keep a toddler in check and a baby happy. That had been her plan.

She takes a deep breath, trying to stop herself from reliving those fantasies. They will never happen. She will not have Jax's babies. Soon, Abel will be able to go home with him and her maternal instincts will stop being triggered by the sight of him with his son. They are not a family.

(-)

Gemma waits anxiously for Abel. She can't quite shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong. She keeps reminding herself that he's not Thomas. But Abel was hardly even born. He has so many more problems.

He's going to be fine. He's strong. He's a Teller. She keeps repeating this in her mind, not sure if it's helping but figuring it can't hurt. She looks up to see Tara rounding the corner with Abel in her arms and she feels the faint sense of rage that happens every time Tara is near.

She should have no right to her grandson. She left. She comes back and acts like her helping Abel should redeem her from all these past sins. It'll take a lot more than that to win back Gemma's approval. She sees Tara's smile towards Abel and is stunned. She knows that smile.

That's how a mother smiles at their child. The right amount of awe and pride, with a whole lot of love. Gemma should know, she smiles like that at Jax. Tara looks like she considers Abel her baby. And that makes Gemma furious.

Jax steps forward to take Abel and Gemma knows that she should focus on the joy of watching her son hold his son for the first time, but she can't. She's focused on the way Tara is passing Abel to him, how his head is bent down close to hers, how easily Tara supports Abel's head and guides him to Jax's arms.

She's startled, because she recognizes that movement. A mother passing their child to the father. It's easy and natural. It that one moment, Gemma realizes what could happen before it does. It's just like how it was in high school, when Jax came home, sat down, and told her he was in love.

That declaration terrified her, because it meant that he was going to leave her. She always knew that would happen, but the arrival of a girl just sped it up even more and she wasn't prepared. When Tara left, she was angry for Jax's pain, but also more than a little relieved that the threat has passed.

It had not passed; it is back and in full force. She watches in a mixture of horror and fascination as Jax cuddles Abel and Tara looks on, a shuttered look behind her eyes. Gemma knows that she's seeing the same truth as her- Jax makes a good father and Tara wants a family with him.

Gemma feels horror at the idea. Wendy the junkie was bad, but she was manageable. Gemma could manipulate her easily. Tara the doctor will be much, much worse. She's been around long enough to know Gemma's tricks and schemes. She sees through the act.

Gemma takes a deep breath and tries to return to the moment. Abel is safe, he is healthy and strong. Jax is finally getting to hold his son. She should be happy, she should be celebrating this victory. Instead, she is too worried about Tara. She knows how the doctor fits in Jax's past, she wants to know how she's going to fit in his future.

(-)

Jax apprehensively waits. All the day, he was excited, thinking about his son, finally getting to hold him. Now that the moment is here, he just feels fear. He will not be a good father. How can he be? He was raised by the leader of a motorcycle gang that died young and left behind a boy.

His role models included thugs, criminals, and killers. It's no wonder he's grown up who he is today. He's never seen a functional relationship a day in his life, and with the way things are with Wendy, it doesn't look like Abel will either. He is too young to raise a baby all by himself and he is honestly scared, an emotion that he hasn't felt in years.

Tara walks in, holding Abel and he's breathless. His son has a healthy pink tinge to his cheeks and he looks so much bigger than the tiny sick thing that had spent his entire life in an incubator. And Tara looks just radiant, smiling down at Abel so sweetly.

He had imagined this a long time ago, how his family with Tara would look. A couple boys, maybe a girl or two, depending on the order and how many Tara wanted. He thought he lost that, years ago, but here she is, passing him his firstborn. She may not be Abel's mother, but that doesn't stop Jax from feeling like this is their little family.

His fear disappears, replaced with a deep sense of happiness at the sight of Tara holding Abel. This is right where he is meant to be, this moment here and now. Everything else fades away- the club, Kohn, the Mayans and Nords, nothing else matters in this moment, just his son.

Tara approaches him and his arms lift of their own accord. He's hardly ever held babies, both somehow he knows what form to take to support Abel's head and body. Tara's closer to him right now than she's been in a long time, her smile still tender as she watches Abel's face for any sign of distress.

He easily takes Abel from her, surprised at how natural she is at passing off babies. Maybe's she had a lot of practice or maybe she's just that comfortable with him. Either way, it fills him with a sense of peace, that everyone in this room loves Abel so dearly.

He stares down in amazement at Abel, noting the smooth skin and the blue eyes. His eyes, he marvels. His own features, just in miniature. It's scary and utterly happy all at the same time. He's content to sit and stare at Abel all day long, if he could. Instead, he slowly sits, holding back tears. His son.

* * *

 _The scenario of Tara coming back. "You wondering what kinda bad shit I was doing and me saying I'm sorry."_

He strides into the bar, spotting Opie's large frame instantly and slapping him on the back. He holds up two fingers and the bartender nods, reaching for beers. Jax thanks him and takes a long swing.

"Rough day?" Opie asks with a raised eyebrow and Jax shrugs.

"Just club shit." He says carefully and Opie tenses briefly but relaxes immediately. He's only been out of prison for a couple weeks, but he hasn't recommitted to the club yet, which Jax understands.

They drink a couple beers in relative silence, watching as a couple games of pool are played and fought over. Their conversation is basic and boring, nothing more than exchanging pleasantries.

"Listen Jax, there's something you gotta know." Opie says suddenly and Jax looks at him with raised eyebrows, taking a drink. "Donna and I, we took the kids to the hospital today,"

"Is everyone ok?" Jax cuts him off worriedly and he nods, waving a hand.

"Just normal check up stuff, you know the deal. But, uh, they told us something." He says and Jax stares at him, uncomprehending of why he seems so worried if both the kids are fine. "That a new doctor is starting there."

"And?" Jax asks, still bewildered.

"It's Tara. She's coming back to Charming." Opie tells him and Jax nearly spills his beer.

"What?" He demands, stunned. He can't form coherent thoughts. He had given up hope that Tara was ever coming back. For about a year he had waited with the hope that she would return, saying that their break up had been a joke and that she still loved him. Then when her father had died this last year, he had waited with baited breath, sure that this would bring her home, but she carried on in Chicago and Jax carried on in Charming, coming to terms that he would never see her again. And now this?

"She took a job at St. Thomas. I guess she's coming back pretty soon. All the doctors were talking about. I just… Donna thought I should tell you first." He says carefully and Jax manages to nod, clapping his back.

"I should… I'm gonna… Go." He says haltingly and Opie nods, watching him with worried eyes. He gets on his bike and heads out of the parking lot with no destination in mind, just the desire to leave.

He quickly realizes the problem with this. No matter what road he's on, they all have memories of her. This whole town does, every corner and street, it's all a part of their shared past.

He goes to the only place that contains no trace of her, the sacred place for that trait alone. He pulls up to the clubhouse and walks inside, ignoring Tig and his strippers. He grabs a beer and heads to his dorm room, where maybe he can find some peace and quiet.

He lies down in bed, taking a long pull from his beer. His head is spinning and not because he's drunk. For all his hopes and dreams and plans, never once did he actually consider what he would really do if Tara returned. He closes his eyes, unsure if he wants to sleep or simply try to stop thinking.

Instead, he drifts into thinking about Tara and what he's going to do now that she's actually coming back to Charming. His thoughts bounce between completely unrealistic and absolutely mundane.

Maybe he'll save her from thieves that try to break into her house. Maybe he'll lay his bike down and be rushed to surgery, where she'll be forced to operate on him and he'll wake up to her confessing her undying love for him. Maybe she'll get kidnapped and he'd shoot her captors before saving her.

Or maybe he'll bump into her at a gas station, as he fills up for a long trip and she's getting a quick breakfast before her shift. They'll pass each other in the grocery store aisles, making awkward small talk as he gets frozen microwave meals and she'll have healthy, organic options. Maybe he won't ever really see her; they'll just carry on like two ships in the night.

But he knows how it'll go more than likely. Just like it did when he was 18 and she was 16 and he had that kutte on his back and she hated it. He'll be in trouble, because gun running is a dangerous business and her job is to fix what's broken in people but he's beyond her help.

Maybe one of those times she sees him at the gas station she'll notice the limp in his right leg or how his flinches when he has to stretch and reach something. Maybe she'll see a stain and shake her head because she knows what everyone else doesn't, what this mean.

He wishes they could at least be friends. But that would never work, not with how strong his feelings for her still are. Besides, she would see right through his act that he's fine. He'd end up saying sorry for disappearing into the night again and again, feeling guilty that he leaves her with worry on her face.

Maybe this time she'd love him despite the club. Maybe she wouldn't try to pull him away from it. She might even accept it and understand it. Jax knows it's wistful thinking, but he can't help it. He's had two dreams in his life- be SAMCRO and marry Tara. If he could have both of them at once, he's not sure what he would do.

He sighs deeply and opens his eyes. That will never happen, he reminds himself firmly. He knows this needs to be a constant mantra, because if he lets his mind run away from him, for even one second, he will lose the battle against missing her and it will all rush back. Now is not the time for that. He's gonna need a sense of fortitude in the days to come, if Tara really is coming back. He knows how easy it'll be to start dreaming of winning her back. So he shuts out any idea of how it'll work with her and gets up. Might as well see what Tig is up to and try to distract himself from this.

* * *

 _After sex talk_

Jax gently traces circles on Tara's back. They've pulled the covers up over their heads like they used to do as kids, when they thought that alone would be enough to hide them from the world. Jax wants to hide her from what's right outside their sight.

"This wasn't how I planned it." He admits.

"You planned it?" Tara questions, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah." Jax says, affronted. "We'd start as friends, then slowly work our way back from there. I'd take you to a nice supper and a ride, then we'd come home to a house full of candles." He describes and Tara looks up at him with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"Who are you and what have you done with the Jax Teller I knew?" She says, half teasing and half not.

"Same guy." He says, affronted.

"Maybe, but you've changed a lot too." She says quietly, snuggling into his chest and falling silent.

"It's been 10 years." He reminders and she stays quiet. "You've changed a lot too." His fingers gently glide down her lower back. "But maybe not completely…" There's a long pause of silence.

"I don't know why I kept it." She admits. "I made half a dozen appointments to take it off, but I could never go through with it."

"Why?" Jax asks, genuinely curious.

"I always wound up wanting to keep it." Tara says thoughtfully and Jax's stomach does a flip. "I thought it would be a reminder, of the past. Where I come from, what I left."

"So you wanted a reminder of Charming?" He asks, slightly teasing.

"Of my choice to leave it." She corrects, not making eye contact and it's like he's hit a brick wall while going 100 miles an hour on his bike.

"A reminder of all your bad choices." He says coldly and she's quiet. "I see how it is Tara." He says bitterly.

"It's not that, Jax." She protests halfheartedly. "I got this tattoo when I was 16, when I was in love and I thought we were gonna rule the universe together. I was young and stupid and so were you and we were so in love that I thought it was a good idea. I didn't even think. You didn't either."

"I thought that I knew you." He says, still angry with her.

"You did." She says instantly. "You knew the girl I was then, you knew that she loved you more than life. But we grew up Jax, we figured out our futures and there was nothing we could do when they turned out to be different!" She protests and he looks downs at her, contemplative.

"You could've got that tattoo erased. You could've never came back to Charming. But you did." He states flatly and she bites her lip, looking down.

"I never thought I would." She says, so softly he nearly misses it. "Even after my dad died, I never thought that I would do it. I promised myself I would never come back here."

"Is it really that awful Tara?" He demands.

"Yes!" She insists. "I only ever would've stayed for you. And once I knew that could never happen, I never wanted to come back. It's not like I had friends, Jax." A heard edge creeps into her voice. "All of my friends were your friends or 'friends of the club'. It's not like I had family here, with my parents gone. So what was the point? I kept the tattoo the remind me that I could never come back here, because I was SAMCRO and if there's one thing that I haven't forgotten, after all these years, is that once you're SAMCRO, you don't leave."

"Tara…" He says, stunned by her outburst. She takes a deep breath, like this has exhausted her.

"Besides, they all hate me." She says, ignoring his attempts to comfort her. "Your mother makes that very clear every day she visits Abel just how much she loathes me, I doubt any of the others feel differently."

"Tara, it's not like that." He says quietly.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me Opie doesn't think this is a bad idea. Or Clay or Gemma or Piney." She challenges him and he remains quiet. "So I know my choices Jax, I've had plenty of time to think on them. And even if I did love you and I did still want you, like I do, it will never work."

"What?" He asks, unable to focus on anything other than her confession of still wanting him.

"Yeah Jax, I came back to Charming to avoid Kohn, but that doesn't mean I didn't think about you." She says tiredly and Jax hides a smile behind his stoic mask. At least there's that.

"It wasn't because I'd protect you?" He asks and she does a little half shrug.

"Where do you go when you're scared? You go where you feel safe and that's here, that's Charming. That's you, whether I admitted it to myself or not. When I left…" She hesitates and he nods. "I left because I told myself he wouldn't follow me from the Midwest. I kept thinking that I would have nothing to do with you, that I wouldn't even see you because Charming would be fine. But I dunno Jax, it's like no matter how far we are, the strings of the universe…" She doesn't bother to finish her sentence because Jax knows.

"I would've done this for you, no matter what. Even if you would've gotten this removed." He rubs her tattoo.

"Well, it's not like getting rid of that would've done anything to get rid of the memories." She mutters and Jax wonders if those memories are good or bad. This one surely won't be.

"I don't know what this is Tara." He admits.

"It doesn't have to be anything." She says, avoiding his eyes.

"I just…" He hesitates. "I want it to be, but I don't know what I want."

"You don't have to!" She says instantly. He hushes her by kissing her.

"Just let me figure it out?" He requests.

"Of course." She says, seemingly surprised by him.

"I'll handle this." He reassures her. "I need to do some shit, but I promise I'll handle it."

"I know." She mummers, kissing him again and patting his chest. "I know Jax, I know."

 **AN:** Wow, so so much Jax/Tara... Fitting for the episode? Please leave me reviews, let me know what you think! Special SO to the person that corrected me on my David/Jacob Hale mixup, whoops. I love that you guys are leaving me ideas of what to write, I try to watch each episode and jot down a bunch of ideas that inspire me as I watch, then I watch it again and refine my ideas, so that's kinda how my process works, but I love knowing what you guys wanna see and I'm working on it. Thanks for reading!


	9. Season 1- Hell Followed

**AN:** So one of these stories follows my other story's timeline... If you want to read First Son, Cursed Son, it's a completed SOA story. If not, the story will still make sense- it's an AU where Opie had one more kid. Ok, go forth and read!

* * *

Episode 9: Hell Followed

 _Donna being like his mom_

"Opie…" Donna calls and he looks into the kitchen from the garage where he's tinkering on his bike.

"Yeah?" He responds and she appears in the doorway, arms folded.

"Did you pay the water bill?" She asks pointedly and he wipes the grease off of his hands on his jeans.

"I thought I did." He admits.

"Well I'm trying to make supper and the sink won't work." She reveals and he sighs heavily, hanging his head.

"It might've got ignored." He says, before adding instantly, "But the electricity is still on."

"Well that's great Op, but we can't feed our kids tonight." She says sharply and that switches him into defense mode.

"Well, they have light to do their homework and heat, isn't that good? We can just order something." He reacts.

"We can't afford to!" She shoots back and he straightens up to his full height.

"Donna." He warns her.

"No, Opie." She says flatly. "We can't keep the water or the car or the electricity. We can hardly afford to feed the kids!"

"Because I can't make shit at the mill!" He injects and Donna stares him down, unblinking.

"Then get another job." She suggests.

"Oh yeah, cause there's so many ways to earn money when you've got a rap sheet like mine." He says, rolling his eyes.

"And what got you that rap sheet?" She demands, firing up at once.

"Do not make this into an argument about SAMCRO!" He protests. "Not everything is SAMCRO's fault!"

"Yes it is!" She yells. "They're why you were in prison Opie! Why you can't get a job now! We don't have running water and they don't give a damn."

"I could earn. If you let me go back, we would have the money." He states and she looks at him, fire blazing in her eyes.

"The money for what? Booze, drugs, hookers, guns? That's such a great thing. I get my water turned back on and I lose my husband to a bunch of bikers that wouldn't care if he winds up dead in the ditch!" She rages.

"They cared more than you!" He says instantly. "They kept me safe, they made sure the kids had enough. I'm trying to earn straight Donna. And it's not working. You knew who I was when you married me."

"And this was fine when I was a teenager, Opie." She says and he's quiet, trying to figure out where she's going with this. "But now, I am a mother. I have kids to protect!"

"They're my kids too." He reminds.

"Not for five years they haven't been." She spits and he recoils like he's been slapped. "They've been mine. And they're not going to be yours ever again if you stay SAMCRO." She threatens.

Opie suddenly remembers why this feels so familiar. This conversation is almost verbatim the one he remembers from his childhood, the day when his mother took him away from Charming, Jax, the club, and everything else. He feels a swell of protective instincts and he throws down his greasy towel.

"You sound like my mother." He says disdainfully, shouldering past her and walking into the kitchen, gazing around the corner to look at the two kids, both with headphones on and doing homework.

"Opie, I can't do this." She says tiredly, slumping against the wall.

"Do what, Donna?" He asks.

"Live like this." She gestures to the kids and the sink. "I love them, I love them more than life. And I'm gonna do whatever I can to protect them and give them the best possible life."

"They need their father." He declares.

"They need stability, normality, a routine! They don't need the notoriety of their father being a jailbird and an outlaw. They don't need the threat of SAMCO and killers over their head." She retorts and Opie narrows his eyes at her.

"Donna, I am one of those men. Did you forget that when I was in prison? Did you forget who you fell in love with?" He questions.

"No, I still love the man that you were. But you forgot how to be him." She hisses and he's stunned into silence. She takes a deep breath and pushes her hair back, then forces a smile onto her face and opens the freezer, pulling out a frozen pizza and starting the oven.

Opie softly pulls a chair out from the table and sits down, putting his head in his hands. He just wants his family back.

* * *

 _"Just a little family reunion." (Based on First Son, Cursed Son)_

"Guess what." Piper says, flopping down next to Willow on her bed. Her crayons fly everywhere and she lets out a cry of protest.

"Quit it! Go away!" She yells, kicking at him. He easily pins down her legs, seemingly unperturbed.

"Listen, I have good news." He says, as she struggles beneath him.

"What?" She asks, disgruntled.

"There's gonna be a family reunion this weekend." He says and her eyes light up. He moves off her and she sits up.

"What?" She asks excitedly and he nods. "Who told you?"

"Mom, cause yesterday after school I had to go to work with her and she was talking to everyone about this weekend." He reveals and Willow bounces up and down, clapping her hands.

"What are we gonna do?" She asks, moving crayons so that Piper can get comfy on her bed. He settles in, nodding seriously.

"Well I think mom said that we could go to the clubhouse during the day." He says and Willow beams, showcasing a smile full of gaps.

"Do you think any of the other kids are coming?" She wonders aloud and Piper shrugs.

"Mom said that the babies are gonna be there for sure." He says and Willow looks delighted. She loves getting to see the little boys that are only a couple years younger than she is.

"What about the other kids?" She asks, carefully gathering up her crayons. Piper shrugs, jumping up and down on the bed.

"Ask mom." He says dismissively and Willow flounces off the bed, running for her mother's room. She skids to a stop, pausing at the door.

"Willow, what you doing?" Ellie asks from the living room and Willow bounds over to her, scrambling to get up on the couch.

"I wanna talk to mama." She announces and Ellie hesitates, watching the door for a long moment.

"Mama is busy." She says finally. "What do you wanna talk to her about?"

"Are we really having a family reunion?" She asks hopefully and Ellie smiles, nodding.

"Yeah, did Pipes tell you?" Willow nods quickly. "Yeah, we're gonna go to the clubhouse."

"And see uncle Chibs?" Willow asks, playing with Ellie's shirt. Ellie nods. "And uncle Tiggy and uncle Happy and uncle Rat and uncle Quinn and uncle T.O. and uncle Monty?" She rattles off.

"All the uncles, Willow." Ellie says, slightly exasperated.

"Are the other kids gonna come?" Willow asks and Ellie pauses, gently tugging Willow's hair into a braid.

"I don't know sweet girl, I'm not sure if it's for fun or business yet." She says quietly and Willow frowns.

"What's business?" She asks, sitting very still so Ellie can do her hair.

"That's when the club has everybody home to talk about serious, grown-up stuff. And the kids can't come. So I don't think they are coming sweet girl." She says and Willow pouts for a long time.

"But I still get to go right?" She asks and Ellie nods, kissing her head.

"Yes, I will take you to the clubhouse to see everyone." She promises and Willow beams.

When the big day arrives, Willow is careful to dress in her very favorite outfit- her pretty jeans with butterflies on them and her sparkly shirt. Ellie puts her hair in another braid and brings Willow to the car, where she excitedly jabbers to Piper and Ken.

"Are the babies gonna be there Ellie?" She demands and Ellie pauses from strapping her into her car seat to sigh and rest her head against the door.

"Yes, Willow, for the thousandth time, all the babies will be there and you can see them. Just none of the other kids from the other clubs." She repeats. Willow frowns, kicking her feet.

"I want them to come." She says and Ellie hears the impending meltdown in her voice.

"Don't throw a fit or we won't go." She warns. "Willow Jocelyn, I promise that if you have a temper tantrum I will tell mom to stay in the house and we won't go anywhere." Willow pouts but remains quite when Lyla gets in the car. By the time they make it to the club, Willow has returned to her usual jabbering self, making Ellie and Lyla both sigh.

"I'm gonna say hi to uncle Tiggy before you." Piper informs her and Willow riles up at once.

"No, I want to!" She protests.

"Piper, quit bugging your sister." Ellie says automatically and he smirks while Willow glares at him.

"Ok, listen crew, we're not staying long, just to say hi and then-" Lyla's words go unheeded. Once the car is stopped amongst the bikes, there's no stopping Willow. She jumps out of the car, running for the clubhouse. She struggles to open the door on her own.

"You could just ask for help." Ken tells her, amused, opening it. Willow races through it.

"Tiggy!" She yells, skidding to a stop in front of him. He looks down at her, a beer in one hand.

"Hello Willow Winston, what are you doing here?" He asks, picking her up. She throws her arms around his neck with gusto.

"I miss you!" She announces.

"I missed you too." He says, holding her with one arm so that he can ruffle Piper and Ken's hair as they file in.

"Is this a family reunion?" Willow asks him, holding his face with her little hands and he nods.

"Do you wanna meet them?" He asks and she hesitates, suddenly shy. "They all knew your daddy." He reveals and her eyes light up.

"Daddy?" She repeats, the word a signal for her to pay close attention. He nods again, carrying her towards a clump of men gathered around a table, all of them exchanging cards and poker chips.

"Everyone, I have a very special little girl to introduce to you." He announces and they look up. "Willow, this is Lee, Yates, Donut, Les, and Gaines." She hides in his shoulder, peaking out at the men. "This is Willow Winston. Opie's daughter." He explains and eyebrows rise.

"Willow Winston." One man says with wonder in his voice and Willow looks at him from between her fingers. "Let me have a look at you." Tig sets her down and with a reassuring pat on her back, she slowly walks over to stand in front of the dark haired man. "I'm Lee." He tells her.

"Hi." She says softly.

"You have your daddy's eyes." He says and she looks up at him. "He was a good man, your father. I miss him every day. Do you miss him?" She glances back at Tig and he nods. She looks back at Lee and nods. He chuckles.

"She looks just like him." Another man mutters.

"So does Ken. You thinking he'll be SAMCRO?" One man asks, leaning forward on his elbows and Willow gets a sense that the adults are no longer paying attention to her alone.

"Piper too." Tig says quietly, picking Willow back up and pushing her stray hairs off her face absentmindedly. "At least, that's the hope."

"Can I go say hi to uncle Rat?" Willow asks Tig, playing with his kutte.

"Of course baby, go play." Tig says distractedly, setting her down. She dashes for Rat, who's entered with Brooke and a baby carrier.

"Hi baby." She coos to the sleeping boy.

"Willow, did you go say hi to people?" Brooke asks, kissing her head and looking at the group of people Willow came from.

"Yeah, they knew my daddy." She states, still making faces at the baby. Rat looks at Brooke in surprise. Willow looks up at the both of them, smiling. "Family reunions are fun."

* * *

 _"The doctor is a friend of the club. You're in good hands."_

Jax pulls into the yard with her on the back of his bike, hanging tightly. He backs his bike into a long row of Harley's and helps her off, setting both their helmets onto the handlebars. She looks at the bikes then at him with a quizzical expression.

"There's some other charters visiting." Jax explains lowly and she doesn't press it. She remembers from her youth that it's better not to.

"Wait…" Tara says quietly and takes a deep breath, pausing outside the clubhouse, wishing like hell she were somewhere else. When she opens her eyes, she's still staring down the reaper. She manages to control the shiver that runs down her spine. She's never liked it here, not even when she was 16 and so deeply in love with Jax.

The first time she had been the to clubhouse had actually been to go to TM. Jax had been so nonchalant, saying that it would be nothing, just them stopping by the office so that he could grab money from his mother.

When Tara had gotten off of Jax's bike, she was instantly fearful. Jax was at ease here; she had never been more on guard. The men were scary, the women were scary, and everything made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Every visit back there after that was the same feeling, the strange pit in her stomach that something terrible would happen here one day. She didn't like it, she didn't like how Jax fit in there, and she hated how much she didn't fit in there.

"Hey." Jax says quietly, putting his hand on her back and looking down at her. "You ok?"

"It's just… Been awhile." She says honestly. Jax nods and opens his mouth.

"Tara." Gemma's voice is short and sharp. She's pushing the door open and leaning out into the sunlight, watching Tara. "He's in here." Jax closes his mouth and gestures for her to go in ahead of him. She follows Gemma through the door, blinking to adjust to the darker interior.

"We got a doc finally?" A man asks and Tara looks at him, trying to place him from her memories of the club.

"Yeah, Tara's gonna help us out." Jax says, leaving her side and going towards the bar. Tara stares at the man, knowing that the black curls should be familiar but not being able to place him.

"We hope she can." Gemma corrects and Tara wants to roll her eyes but she knows better to do that here. So she follows Gemma until she can see the blood and prone figure out a table.

She wants to yell that this is madness, that it's insanity, that she is a pediatric doctor. She saves the lives of innocent children, not killers. She's fixed unfinished hearts, repaired organs, brought them back from the edge of death multiple times. She's not in the practice of digging bullets from flesh.

Instead she grits her teeth and ignores the jabs from Gemma. Would this have been her life if she'd tried to keep Jax and her dreams? She would've been at medical school at in the day, then applying all that she learned at night to men that had been beaten or shot.

This was exactly what she ran away from. This life, of being the club doctor and Jax's old lady. She wanted more, she wanted better. But somehow, she's wound up back here, with a biker queen and a tattooed biker solider as her assistants in saving a man's life.

"The doctor is a friend of the club. You're in good hands." Gemma utters, not looking down at the wounded man but rather at Tara, her expression calculating. Tara wants to scream to the heavens that Gemma Teller is a liar.

Tara is not a friend of the club, not in Gemma's mind. She's the biggest enemy that they can have. Tara almost took Jax and that alone has slashed her chances of Gemma ever trusting her. So she finds it ironic that Gemma is telling blatant lies to this man.

As she works to stop the bleeding, she hardly takes notice of the fact that her surroundings are basically a bar. She's in the least sterile environment possible, where whiskey is both the anesthetic and disinfectant. She wants to say something, but she knows Chibs was doing the best he could.

Chibs she remembers. He was always one of her favorites. The Scotsman seemed gentler and kinder than all the others. He was just as wildly tattooed as the rest and could curse a blue streak, but he had a nice smile and she liked the way he called Jax "Jackie-boy". It meant that maybe someone else saw the boy like she did and not the man.

She doesn't recognize a lot of the men, but that doesn't surprise her. In the years she dated Jax alone she saw men come and go. Some of the men out there have different states on their rockers, so something must be happening to draw them in from around the area.

She finishes up the bleeding and thanks Juice, trading words with Gemma while trying not to show how her hands are shaking. That would really never be the end of it. She wants to seem calm and in control here, not just for Gemma but for the men outside the doors and Jax as well.

She's sick of being scared. She's sick of fearing the next step. She just wants to be strong and stubborn, like the girl that left Charming was. Lately she can't seem to find who she was before she became a doctor and now, a killer.

Suddenly she aches for Jax. She just wants to be near him and feel his comforting presence. Things always make more sense around him, even when he's the most confusing part of her life. With a small smile, she reflects back on how easy it seemed to be to memorize bones and tendons and veins, when she had spent so much time mastering the art of memorizing Jax.

"Can you grab Jax for me?" She asks to the man that's stuck his head around the door to inspect her work. He nods and disappears. She takes another deep breath. Keep him alive, that's her task now. She's done that before, in hospitals, with babies. With a wry twist of her mouth, she wonders if in all the time she spent plotting what her life would be like in Charming, if she ever thought it would consist of bullet holes in a man's ass.

* * *

 _Leaving the party/Tara in the tee shirt_

Jax slumps in a chair, watching girls in strips of leather walk by, half an eye on them and half an eye on the fighters brawling in the cage. He's still halfway in shock from the whole Kohn thing that he's taking a moment to reflect and sit in relative peace for five minutes.

He knows that it won't last. His mother will track him down or another problem will arise in the club or lord forbid, the hospital will call with something wrong with Abel. He just wants to sit and rest.

"Hey Jax." A girl calls and he raises his eyes to hers, giving a little smile. "Looking lonely." She says suggestively, walking towards him.

"Lost in thought." He says, as way of an explanation.

"Don't think too much." She flirts, trying to slide into his lap. Just then, Opie's hands clasp his shoulders.

"Sorry, club is talking." He says shortly to the woman, pulling Jax towards the makeshift picnic tables where they're gathering. "Seriously?" He mutters to Jax under his breath.

"What?" Jax responds.

"Tara's inside changing. How's she gonna feel when she walks out here and you've got some chick in your lap?" Opie demands and Jax is saved from retorting when Clay calls them to attention.

Jax keeps his hesitations about Opie to himself, deciding that this will play out no matter how many times he tries to explain the gnawing in his gut. Some things he just has to accept. He looks up and spots Tara wandering through the crowd, looking lost and out of place. He smiles slightly.

She has nothing in common with the other women here. Her natural beauty radiates towards him, even in the low light of the fire. She's covering just as much skin as the others are showing, which somehow makes her all the more appealing to him. He wants to explore every inch of her again, take his time to see what's changed and what hasn't.

She spots him and with a reluctant smile, approaches him. Wordlessly, she slides her hand in his and looks up at him with her wide eyes. He gets a sudden feeling of déjà vu that they've done this thousands of time before. All through high school, all the parties that were his idea. Her 'take me home' look at the end of each night. This exact look.

He tucks her into his side, making the rounds and saying goodnight to everyone. She remains silent as he exchanges nods with Opie, talks lowly to Happy, and embraces any man that's leaving. Then, finally, he pulls her into the clubhouse and towards him dorm room.

He undresses and climbs into bed as she disappears into the bathroom. Once again in the silence, his thoughts come rushing back to him. His moral code. Maybe he truly doesn't have one. Maybe he is just making it up as he's going alone. Tara walks back out and he looks up.

A sense of love washes over him, so strong all he can do is smile and give a slight laugh. She use to spend days like this, hair loose, dressed in only one of his tee shirts. She would steal one from his dresser and toss it on after sex, sitting in bed and doing homework or debating things with him or simply napping, curled into his side where she belonged.

"That's a good look for you." He says honestly. He means it. He fell in love with the girl that looked so perfect in his tee shirt. She looks down, bouncing uncertainly on her toes.

"You think?" She asks jokingly, but Jax sees the insecurity there. Tara has never fit in here. She's never looked like the kind of girl to wear a reaper. And that makes him love her more. He reaches out a hand to her so she can climb into bed, the noise of the party still raging outside in the background. She pulls the covers up and snuggles in.

He embraces her tightly, feeling her comforting weight on his chest. He's so glad he told her to stay. He doesn't want her to leave his arms or this bed, let alone Charming. He needs her now more than ever. This is where Jax Teller belongs, with his Tara Knowles.

"Are we crazy?" She asks him quietly and rather than admit that that exact question has been running through his mind all day, he responds,

"We'll answer that later."

 **AN:** Ok, a variety of stories. What do you guys like best, before stories, during the episode reflections and moments, or future stories? Let me know in the reviews! Also, someone asked why I do so much high school Opie/Donna but not as much Tara/Jax and well... I'm currently in the process of writing a Jax/Tara high school story, so I don't want to spoil it! Thanks for reading, let me know what you like!


	10. Season 1- Better Half

Episode 10: Better Half

 _"I'm whatever I need to be." "I believe in family." Gemma as a little girl_

Gemma peers over the bassinet, watching as her little brother sleeps. She's fascinated by how small his fingers are, how fat his cheeks are, how his entire chest seems to move up and now when he breathes.

Enchanted, she reaches out and runs a hand over his hair, marveling at how soft it is. When he doesn't wake, she runs her fingers down the side of his face, comparing his skin to her own. She inspects the fabric on his collar, stretching up on her tippy toes so she has a better look.

"Gemma." Rose's tone is sharp and makes Gemma jump at the sound of it. She looks up guiltily. "What are you doing?" Rose demands and she steps away from the bassinet.

"I just wanted to make sure he was still sleeping." She says quietly, not looking her mother in the eye.

"Well, don't wake him up. I want him to sleep until we get to church." Rose says, and then disappears back towards her room. Gemma takes another breath and exhales in relief that she isn't in trouble.

"Stay asleep." She whispers to her brother then hurries to her room. If her mother is getting ready for church, that means Gemma should put her dress and tights on as fast as she can.

"Gemma, why didn't you get me?" Rose fusses, walking into Gemma's room and realizing the little girl has her tights halfway on and is struggling to slip on her dress. "Now it'll take me twice as long to do your hair. Stop wiggling, you'll ruin your tights!" Gemma holds very still, as Rose yanks her dress down and her tights up. She runs a brush through her hair and swiftly ties a bow.

"Sorry." Gemma says quietly and Rose pats her cheek.

"Black shoes please. Then just wait for me. So that we can go to the church together. I need to make sure I have everything for your brother." She orders and Gemma sits as primly on the kitchen chair as she can as Rose picks up the still sleeping boy and puts on her own shoes.

"Is daddy already there?" Gemma asks, walking after her mother as Rose opens the door and shuts it behind Gemma.

"Yes, he's getting ready for the sermon. So please behave yourself. I'll have my hands full with your brother, I won't tolerate you being unruly." She warns and Gemma nods seriously.

At church, they file into the front pew and Gemma smiles at her father as he greets people. He smiles and winks back at her. Rose's clearing of her throat makes Gemma sit up, swinging her feet before keeping them still. She watches as her father walks to the front of the church, smiling and greeting everyone.

She doesn't really understand what church is, other than the time when she has to wear a somewhat itchy dress and sit still for what seems like an entire year. The rhythm is comforting however. She doesn't know the words to songs but recognizes the tune and hums along.

Besides her, Rose is gently rocking the still sleeping baby and Gemma leans as far forward as she dares to get a glimpse of his face. It's a mark of Rose's good mood that instead of chiding Gemma, she actually gently sets him in Gemma's outstretched arms.

Gemma watches him in awe. All he has to do is breathe and sleep, but somehow she wants to help with that. She carefully watches his chest, counting the number of times it rises and falls, making sure it's even. She's not even paying attention to her father, she's so intent.

"Eternal love." He says and Gemma looks up at him. He's watching her and she smiles. "The kind of love that you know that will last until the end of time. That nothing can possible change." Gemma looks down at her brother, his tiny lips puckered.

"I love you." She whispers to him. "Forever."

At the end of the service, Rose takes him and stands, ushering Gemma into the aisle. They wait, as always, for Nate to get done talking to the members of the congregation and walk over to them.

"Gemma, you look beautiful." He says, picking her up and kissing her cheek. She hugs him back tightly.

"Daddy, did you see me hold baby Nathaniel?" She asks loudly and he chuckles, nodding.

"Yes I did darling. You were being so sweet and nice to him. You didn't cause your mother any trouble." He says and she nods proudly.

"I bet you didn't pay any attention to what your father was saying though." Rose says and Gemma stares at her, thinking hard.

"Love." She says finally and Nate raises his eyebrows. "About how much love and how it goes forever." She says confidently and Nate laughs, hoisting her up higher and kissing her nose.

"Very good! How much God loves you." Nate says and Gemma frowns slightly. She hadn't been paying attention to that. She was thinking about how much she loves her little brother.

"It was a wonderful sermon honey." Rose says and Nate kisses her cheek, setting Gemma down and guiding them back towards the crowd of people. Gemma hangs tightly to his hand, her gaze firmly affixed to her brother's little tuff of dark hair. She's pretty sure God can't love anything as much as she loves the little boy right there.

* * *

 _"What would've happened? If you left with me, 11 years ago?"_

Jax swears loudly as the sizzling from the stove alerts him that the pot of water has boiled over. Grabbing a towel, he cleans up the excess water and turns the heat down, grabbing the box of pasta and pouring it in.

"Is that too much?" He wonders aloud to himself, watching as the water churns the pasta. Then he shrugs. Leftovers are a wonderful thing. He bustles about the kitchen, grabbing plates and forks and glasses. He hums to himself as he readies the kitchen, checking the clock.

At 6:39, he hears the sound of the lock in the door. He grins, setting the pan on the table and grabbing the bottle of wine from the fridge, pouring it into the two glasses. He fixes the flowers and straightens up, smiling.

"Jax, did you get some more milk?" She calls, walking up the stairs, flipping through the mail.

"I did." He says smoothly, leaning against the wall and grinning at her. Her dark hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, a sign that she had been studying hard for what he would guess would be the last three hours.

"Thanks." She says distractedly, opening what looks like a bill and inspecting it. He just smiles, admiring her slim legs in her worn out jeans and his sweatshirt, her makeshift coat.

"Tara." He says softly and she looks up at him, and then notices the set-up in the kitchen and her eyes go wide. She sets the bills aside, dropping her bag with a loud 'thud' on the wooden floor.

"Jax." She say, stunned. "What's all this for?" She looks up as he gives her a hug, kissing her forehead.

"I know you've been studying so hard, I thought you'd like coming home to a nice meal. I wanted to do something nice for you." He says and she covers her mouth, looking at the pasta and garlic bread, the wine and salad.

"Oh Jax." She mutters, leaning into him.

"I know finals are tough, but it's almost the holidays and they'll be over and soon you'll be done with undergrad and…" Tara cuts him off, kissing him.

"It's perfect. Thank you." She says honestly. "Let me change, I'll be right out." She promises, disappearing into their bedroom. When she reemerges in sweats and an oversized tee-shirt, Jax kisses her again and pulls her chair out. She sits, grinning, setting her napkin in her lap.

"What do you wanna start with?" Jax asks and she picks up her wine, grinning and taking a long drink.

"Let's try the salad." She says and he dishes some onto her plate then his. He sits. "Where'd you find this recipe?" She asks him.

"Uh, it's like something my mom use to make." He admits, the mood instantly changing. Tara flinches. "I just looked up a recipe online, I don't think I got it right." He says, striving to sound nonchalant.

"It looks amazing." Tara mutters, then plows on to change the conversation. "What else were you up to today?"

"Work." He says, as the conversation swings back to a safe topic. "Been getting busy in the shop lately." They exchange pleasantries, swapping stories of their day back and forth, eating pasta and drinking wine.

At the end of dinner, Tara washes the dishes as Jax cleans up the rest of the kitchen. He pauses, standing behind her at the sink and kissing the top of her head. She smiles, leaning back into him.

"Thank you for supper. I appreciate it." She says, twisting and trying not to drip water on him. She kisses his cheek.

"No problem." He says, wiping down the last dishes and putting them in cupboard. "Just wanted to help with your stress."

"It's nice to have one thing not to worry about." She says, drying her hands and rubbing her forehead. "Trying to figure out med school and where I'm gonna be, what I'll need, how I'm going to afford it, I'm hoping for Chicago but then there's Arizona…" She rambles and Jax gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. He follows her to the living room, where she's grabbing books out of her bag and settling onto the couch to study.

"Chicago?" He asks quietly and she looks up.

"Yes, I told you there's a couple schools I'm really interested in looking at there." She reminds him and he furrows his eyebrows.

"You also said schools in California." He reminds her and she shrugs.

"The schools in Chicago are better." She states and he rolls his eyes, folding his arms. "What?" She demands.

"I just thought I might have a say in this." He says coolly.

"The people that have the most say in this are admissions Jax, if I don't get in, I don't get in and that's final." She explains and he rolls his eyes. "What?"

"Like you're not gonna get in anywhere you pick." Jax scoffs.

"I might not!" She protests. "It's not just about grades Jax, it's about a billion other things and my grades. There's no sure thing when it comes to medical school." She declares.

"Tara, it's not about that." He says, shaking his head and folding his arm. She sits back, raising an eyebrow.

"Then what is it about?" She asks pointedly.

"My future." Jax says and she frowns. "You're planning yours all out. What am I suppose to do?"

"Plan yours too?" She suggests, a biting edge slipping into her tone.

"I had mine planned." He says flatly. "Prospect, patch in, work my way up, run the club. And do you remember what happened?" He demands.

"You left." Tara says tartly. "And do you remember who's choice that was, Jackson Teller?"

"Mine, when I thought it was for the better!" He says hotly. "I thought we were gonna have a future together. But now it seems like I'm just bound to follow you wherever you want to go, being a deadbeat boyfriend, then a husband, then a dad. My wife, the doctor and me, the mechanic. How's that gonna look when we drop our kids off at preschool? Former biker trying to mingle amongst doctors, lawyers…" He shakes his head in disgust.

"I'm not doing this." Tara says tiredly, gathering up her books. "Thanks for supper, it really was great." She pushes past him and he hears the lock from the bedroom. He slumps down on the couch, exhausted and angry. A great way to end to the evening he had wanted to be perfect.

* * *

 _AU where Abel is Tara's ("What would've happened if you stayed?")_

"Tara Teller, what are you doing here?" A nurse calls with a smile, rounding the corner and spotting Tara inspecting Abel's chart.

"I just wanted to see his progress." She confesses, setting the chart down and sticking her hands in her pockets, leaning over and smiling at her son. He makes a little noise and she smiles, reaching down and gently rubbing his belly. "I wanna take him home."

"Soon, mama, soon." The nurse promises. "He's doing so good, you'd hardly think that his heart was such a problem." She says and Tara's not looking at her but rather at Abel.

"Jax warned me, when we decided we were gonna have kids." She declares, smiling and making faces at Abel. "I knew about Thomas, so I knew how high the odds were, but I think somehow I figured that I could prevent it. I wasn't prepared for his birth to go so badly." She admits.

"Well, it's probably worse for you as a doctor to go through it, because you knew exactly what we were gonna do, but you couldn't do anything." The nurse says wisely and Tara nods, gently tracing the reaper on his little, baby blue cap, blowing him kisses.

"Daddy's coming." She whispers, leaning down and kissing his forehead. "Daddy is coming, because we want to take you home. It's been too long, my darling boy. Mommy wants you to come home." The nurse smiles and quietly exits, leaving Tara to detail to Abel exactly what his nursery looks like at home.

"Hey darlin'." Jax says, easing through the door and greeting her with a soft kiss. "How's our little boy?"

"Better." She mutters, leaning into him and sighing deeply. "I think we can take him home soon, but I think they'll want him to pass another oxygen test overnight, even though I've told them a thousand times I could handle him at home on oxygen-" Jax cuts her off with another kiss.

"But could I handle a baby on oxygen?" He points out and she raises an eyebrow. "I wanna raise him too Tara. Be just as involved as you." He says and she smiles, looking down at Abel.

"Plus I would have to teach Gemma how to do it and by the end of it all, she'd probably start correcting me on the techniques." She grumbles and that gets a chuckle out of Jax.

"Well, you know my mother…" He says wearily.

"I'm half convinced that she thinks it's my fault he's still in here." Tara says, before she can filter herself and Jax rolls his eyes, gently rubbing Abel's cheeks and smiling at him.

"My mom had two boys with hearts just like him. She blames herself cause it's her gene we inherit and have to live with." He reminds her for the countless time since Abel's birth.

"I know, I just think there was something I could've done…" Tara frets, biting her nail and Jax pulls her hand away, kissing it.

"If the mom with a medical degree couldn't prevent it, I don't think anyone can." He says quietly and she ducks her head. "Besides, he's perfect just the way he is. I wouldn't change him for the world."

"Neither would I." Tara says, the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smile finally. "He's gonna be handsome like his daddy."

"Wait till we have a girl that's beautiful like her mama, then I'll worry." Jax mummers and Tara smacks his arm with wide eyes.

"You are not thinking about another baby." She says warily and he shrugs, grinning a lopsided smile.

"Admit it, they're cute." He protests and she rolls her eyes.

"Let him get out of diapers." She insists and he shakes his head.

"We lost time starting a family when you had all that school and residency to get through." He reminds her and when she opens her mouth, he raises a hand. "And that was your dream and I love that you went after it. But I want a family with you Tara. Can you blame me? I love you pregnant." He says, snagging her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Jax!" She protests as he kisses her neck. "Quit!" He draws back, smiling. "Besides," She says, settling into his arms and watching Abel. "He's a pretty good start." Jax falls silent, resting his chin on his shoulder.

"He's amazing." He whispers and for a while they stand without saying a word, simply enjoying being a little family of three.

* * *

 _Happy's background_

"Mrs. Lowman, I'd like to talk about your son, Samuel." The teacher says, smiling her best vapid, pleasant smile.

"It's Ms. Cook. I never married his father." She says brusquely and the teacher fumbles her next words, embarrassed.

"Oh, yes, well, I wanted… Samuel." She says firmly.

"Yes?" Ms. Cook asks, raising an eyebrow.

"He, uh, well, doesn't display the kid of attitude that one would expect to see in a kindergartener." She says and when Ms. Cook says nothing, she forges on. "We are well prepared for the shy kids and the wary kids, even the ones who are homesick. On the flip side, we can handle kids with attention and behavior issues, whether it's anger or whatever… I'm just saying that we see a broad spectrum of emotions here." She explains.

"And what does any of this have to do with my son?" She demands and the teacher looks apprehensive once more.

"He, uh, doesn't express… Anything." She says hesitantly. "I thought at first maybe he was apprehensive or skeptical of the activities but… He's more than that. He's… The best word I can think of is totally apathetic. He has no interest in anything in the classroom."

"So you're telling me that because my kid isn't one of those crack addicted idiots that bounces off the walls who can't sit still means that something's wrong with him?" She questions defensively and the teacher backpedals instantly.

"No, no, no, no, he's a well behaved student! It's great, it's fantastic, I never worry about him! He gets his work done; he's a good student. I was just wondering if there's something I can do to get him engaged in the classroom!" She says earnestly and Ms. Cook snorts, leaning back.

"My son is smart." She states. "All this bullshit probably bores the shit out of him. There's a few things he likes and I don't think they're allowed in your precious little classroom. So no, I don't have any ideas for you on how to get him 'engaged'. Stop treating him like all the other kids."

"I just, I thought, he would…" The teacher stutters and Ms. Cook stands up, gathering up her purse and looking down disdainfully.

"Yes?"

"I would like to see him happy." She finishes quietly and Ms. Cook scoffs, walking for the door.

"If that was his attitude all the time it'd be his damn nickname. My son isn't happy." She says and slams the door on the way out.

"What'd she say?" The little boy asks, scrambling up and falling into step with his mother.

"That you're not a happy child." She says and he looks up her, his small face expressionless.

"Is that bad?" He asks and she shakes her head, leading him out of school and towards her small car.

"It doesn't matter what the hell anyone thinks. You don't have to be happy when someone tells you to be." She tells him and he straps himself into his seat, thoughtful.

"I'm happy sometimes." He says and she pulls out into the street.

"Then you don't have to give a damn what your teacher thinks." She informs him and he nods, watching out the window as buildings stream by. "You're happy being you."

 **AN:** Gemma! Jax! Tara! And a little bit about Happy cause why would a guy like him love his mother so strongly? I really liked to idea of exploring Jax and Tara and what could have been. Plus little Gemma is my favorite. Let me know what you think? I love reading reviews and suggestions!


	11. Season 1- Capybara

Episode 11: Capybara

 _Wendy and Jax meeting_

"Who's that?" Wendy asks, bumping Traci's arm. Taci nearly spills her beer and glares, then follows Wendy's line of sight and snorts slightly.

"Of course you like him." She scoffs and Wendy looks at her, affronted. "It's Jax Teller." Wendy takes a couple steps backwards, looking at the sign above the automotive shop.

"Teller as in the Teller in Teller-Morrow?" She asks and Traci nods.

"You're looking at the next president of the club." She reveals and Wendy raises an eyebrow, watching as Jax takes another drink of his beer and watches, disinterested, as men in front of him fight. He leans back to avoid an errant elbow, completely unfazed.

"What's his story then?" Wendy mutters, trying to watch him without appearing to stare.

"Single, when he's not in a crow eater's bed." She says, with a twist of her mouth and Wendy bites her lip. "He's a great guy. We went to high school together." Traci reveals and Wendy raises an eyebrow.

"Why didn't you go after him?" She questions, well aware of Traci's longstanding attraction to bikers. She shrugs.

"He had a pretty serious girlfriend back then. And now, he's not looking for an old lady, just a tight pussy." She says and Wendy hears the faint note of bitterness, so she decides it's time to get another beer. She walks over to the cooler, fishing around for one.

"Whatcha drinking?" A deep voice behind her asks and she turns, startled to see Jax smiling at her.

"Uh, anything." She says hastily then cringes at her response. He grins, reaching in and producing two beers, handing one to her.

"That work?" He asks and she nods, using a picnic table to pop the top off. "Nice." He admires.

"Thanks. Lots of practice." She says, unsure what else to say.

"Always a good sign when a girl can do that." He teases and she grins. "Jax Teller." He sticks his hand out.

"Wendy Case." She replies, shaking it.

"You're not from Charming." He observes and she shakes her head, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards Traci. "Ah." He says, with understanding and she grins.

"She's something." She agrees and he laughs.

"First time here?" He asks, leading her back to where he was sitting. She leans back and takes a drink, nodding.

"Been around places like this." She says and he raises an eyebrow.

"Where you from?" He asks and she takes a long drink.

"Here and there." She defers then quickly switches the subject back to him. "Betting you're from around these parts." He chuckles.

"Whole life." He says thoughtfully. "Charming, California. Born and raised."

"Must be nice." She says and he raises an eyebrow. "Knowing exactly where you belong."

"Who says you don't belong here?" He suggests and she shrugs. "Any girl that can keep up with me drinking sure as hell belongs here." He says, with a twinkle in his eyes and she faces the challenge head on, downing the rest of her beer and setting it down next to his.

"You were saying?" She asks, with a mischievous smile.

"That's just beer. Any 16 year old could pull that off." He taunts, leading her to the bar. "Tequila, then I'll be impressed."

"You don't know what you're in for." She warns him as he gestures for shots. He raises an eyebrow.

"I don't?" He asks skeptically, watching as the bartender pours two shots. "And why's that?"

"It was my drink of choice in high school." She says, downing the shot easily and grinning at him. Looking impressed, he takes his as well, then bites the lemon and makes a face.

"Ok, you're on then Wendy Case." He says, motioning for another round. She smirks, picking up another shot.

"And what do I get when I win?" She asks pointedly. He mulls it over.

"Is there something you want?" He presses the shot to his lips and she mirrors then. They both tip them back, making faces.

"You have to give me a tour of your clubhouse." She barters and he blinks, surprised, but then nods.

"Fair enough. Drink up."

"What's this?" Wendy asks, pointing to a closed door.

"That?" Jax asks, squinting at it and narrowly avoiding crashing into her as he stumbles past her. "Ah, that's a dorm room."

"I get to see it." She declares and when he opens his mouth to protest, she shakes her head. "Whole clubhouse." She reminds him and he sighs, opening the door. She spots the bed and, as smoothly as a drunk can manage, slams the door shut, grabs Jax, tosses him onto the bed, and rips his shirt off. Laughing, Jax follows her head, both too drunk to stop.

* * *

 _Wendy and Thomas in the future_

"Guys!" Wendy bellows, standing in the entry amid an explosion of shoes, sweatshirts, and various sports equipment. "Downstairs, now!" There's a slight delay, then she hears with satisfaction the clopping of two sets of feet making their way down the hallway and to the stairs.

"What?" Abel asks, sulking into the entryway first, eyes downcast.

"This." Wendy says, gesturing to the mess spread around her.

"It's not all mine!" Abel protests, instantly defensive. "It's mostly Tommy!"

"And look, now he's here to help you." She says pointedly as Tommy bounces into view and groans. "Quit complaining. Spotless, or I'm making extra vegetables for supper tonight." She threatens and once they're complaining but moving stuff around, she retreats back to the kitchen.

"Alright, come inspect it." Abel announces, sticking his head around the corner and she raises an eyebrow but sets aside the ladle and follows him.

"Not bad." She observes. "Did you just throw the sweatshirts in the laundry room, even though they're probably not dirty?"

"No." Both boys say in unison and she rolls her eyes, making a mental note that the laundry room is probably full by now.

"Fine, go do homework. Abel, I know you have that history test on Friday." She warns. "And Tommy, I want everything done since you have late practice tomorrow." With good-natured grumbling, they go.

"It smells good." Tommy says, sliding around the corner in his socks.

"It's a new recipe." She reveals. "It's balsamic Dijon sauce. You can put it over any of the veggies I made."

"Why can't we just have pizza like every other normal family?" Abel whines, leaning on the counter and pouting.

"Because this is way healthier and one day you'll be in college and living off of frozen pizzas and gaining 50 pounds wishing you had some of this." She informs him and he rolls his eyes.

"I mean, it smells good though." Tommy says hopefully, eyeing the sauce a little more warily.

"Good attitude." She approves. "Set the table please."

"So what time is practice tomorrow?" Tommy asks, handing Abel plates and then grabbing glasses.

"7:15, so we need to be leaving the house by 6:45, so supper is at 6, no later. Abel, did you get that?" She calls over her shoulder.

"Supper at 6, yup." He responds, deadpanned.

"Can it be pizza?" Tommy comments slyly and Wendy shoots him an exasperated look while he snickers.

"Finish the table." She orders and he does, stretching across the small table to put down forks. When he straights up, he bumps the cabinet behind him.

"Whoops." He says, hastily tidying up the things within.

"And you're the athlete." Abel jabs and Tommy responds by aiming a punch towards him.

"Quit it, knock it off, sit down and eat." Wendy says quickly, setting the food on the table and both of them sit down opposite sides of the table. They dig in, despite their initial hesitation over the food and she smiles, watching as they do so. She looks up at the cabinet at the end of table and her smile falters.

Two framed pictures of Jax and Tara sit there, side by side. She had hesitated in adding the picture of Tara, for some part of her pride still ached that Jax would always love her more, but she had to do it. For Thomas.

Tara had watched over her son, during all the times Wendy couldn't. She had saved him from Wendy's mistake and fixed him. Tara is why Abel is here now, arguing with his little brother about boys at school. Tara had been a sinner and a saint, and Wendy owes her everything.

Tara had loved her boys. Their boys. And Wendy loves them now. Enough for her, and Tara, and even Jax too. Maybe not as much as Gemma, but maybe that's ok, she muses. She smiles as Tommy laughs and looks at her, grinning. Wendy will love Tara's son and keep her memory alive for him.

* * *

 _Tara watching Wendy and Jax_

"You will never have that."

The snarky voice in her head sounds so much like Gemma, for a moment Tara actually wants to turn her head and look to see if the tall, dark haired woman isn't actually standing over her shoulder.

But she's alone, she's alone in a hospital, watching as the love of her life, despite how much she fought giving him that title, cradles his firstborn son and looks at the mother of said son.

She feels awful for thinking it, but maybe her terror wouldn't be so huge if Wendy had given Jax a little girl. A daughter. Tara knows how bad it seems, but she also knows the club. Sons are their currency. Their lifeblood, their heirs. And Abel is more than a son, he is a symbol.

More importantly, he's a symbol of what Tara never had. A house, a ring, a wedding, approval from Gemma. And now, a baby. Everything that Tara was denied, what she gave up. And all she has now are orthopedic shoes that don't prevent her knees from aching after a long day, scrubs that chaff her skin after weeks with no days off, and an empty house and a bedroom where she can't sleep anymore without hearing the a sounds of gunfire.

Wendy is feeding Abel while Jax stands over her, looking every bit the biker turned husband turned father. Nothing like the impulsive boy she loved long ago. She watches as Jax fiddles with his keys and her breath hitches in her throat. That would be the end.

Jax can't mess around with her anymore. He has a family, a baby. And the woman that gave him that baby, no matter the circumstances, will always take precedence to the girl from high school that ran away. She's got nothing.

An overwhelming sense of loneliness washes over her and she wants to crumple. Only a decade of training herself not to feel this anymore stops her from doing such, so she remains rooted where she is, watching them. The family she's not a part of and never will be.

She can't disguise that she wants that. She watches, as her heart rips further and further apart. Letting Jax back in had been a monumental effort for her to do, but once she had, he had felt natural again. Like she had melted away all those years away.

This is her reminder that she hadn't. Lots had happened between high school Tara and her progression to Dr. Knowles. Abel is one of those things and it will never go away. He is here to stay, a huge part of Jax's life that she can't even get to. Worse than the club.

She watches until it gets to painful to see Jax's hand covering Wendy's and the adoration in their eyes towards their son. She can't do it. She thought she would be strong, but it's too hard to see the man she love, loving someone else.

She wants to cry, she wants to scream, she wants to run away back to Chicago where the streets didn't have his name written all over them. But instead she draws herself back in. She'll be strong. She won't plot and scheme her way to steal Jax back. He doesn't deserve that.

He belongs to his family now. Not her, not the club, or Gemma. He is a father and that will always be what comes before everything else.

* * *

 _"Donna, what kind of mother are you going to be?"_

Mary's words are still ringing in Donna's head as she strides down the hallway, tucked under the strong arm of her husband. The awful words Mary said, about her own son. About moving the kids so far away, that Opie can't touch them. Part of her understands what Mary had said and why she did.

But the other half of her remembers. She remembers the night that she and Opie made Ellie, how he had been tender and sweet and loving. How a couple weeks later, she had sat in the bathroom, staring at a pregnancy test in shock and awe. A baby. Their baby. She had put it in the dish where he threw his keys. She'll never forget anxiously waiting for him to get home and how her stomach had jumped when she heard his bike.

He had came barreling into the kitchen, wild eyed. He picked her up, swung her around, then set her down as gently as he could, already panicking that he had hurt the baby in any way. The way they had laid in bed and planned names and cribs and designed the nursery. The day Ellie was born, how Opie had cried when the club had dropped off a tiny pink reaper hat and she had tugged it on Ellie's head.

Ken had been too close after Ellie to be planned. He was her surprise and she had kept him that way for a long time. She was scared to tell Opie, when they already struggled with diapers. But soon she couldn't hide it. His eyes had flashed panic then joy as he laughed and cuddled his daughter.

When she told him it was going to be a boy, he had held her stomach and cried. A son for the son of a Son. She had known bliss when they had placed her boy in her arms and she saw so much of her husband in his face. Opie had missed a lot while he was in jail- first days of school and temper tantrums and so many family suppers, but he was still the father her children loved and adored when he came in the door each night.

What kind of mother is she going to be?

Not Mary, no matter how many times she wanted to get up and take them and run far away from the reach of SAMCRO. She told herself a thousand times while he was away, that she stayed because a move would be too expensive and the kids had friends here, though she knew that her family would take them in without missing a beat. She stays because she knows that if she leaves, there is a chance that Opie won't tear himself away from the club to come for them.

But not Gemma either. She won't ever force this life on her children. She wants more from them. College, careers, husbands and wives, grandchildren. She doesn't want to become the mother who watches their every move like a hawk, trying to manipulate them to take the steps she wants them to take. This life will be a choice for them, even if she would rather they have nothing to do with it.

Stahl keeps talking. Donna keeps walking. Until she questions Opie and his ability to protect his own that Donna stops dead.

"Donna, what kind of mother are you going to be?" She questions and everything is raging in Donna's skull, except for one clear thought. That she is a mother to two of the most perfect human beings on the planet, that she will love more than anything till the end of her days.

"The kind that doesn't bail on her family." She declares and the words hang heavy in the air. They are a contract, binding her to Charming, to Opie, and to SAMCRO. They are her decision and commitment, wrapped into one. She can tell her words have stunned Stahl and Opie too. "Let's go." She says quietly, taking Opie's hand and leading him out.

When she leaves the federal building, she can breathe again. She takes a deep breath as they walk, feeling lighter and lighter each step away from there. Opie squeezes her hand. She just wants to get to her family.

 **AN:** Update on a Friday, say what? I'm gonna cram 4 games of hockey into 2 days, so this is getting out of the way! This chapter could also be titled don't mess with moms in Charming. Let me know what you think? Also, I'm starting to prepare chapters of a teenager Jax/Tara story, since I feel that one shots wouldn't be able to do them justice, just a little heads up...


	12. Season 1- The Sleep of Babies

Episode 12: The Sleep of Babies

 _Jax's dream to wake him up_

He's flipping through pictures, smiling as he sees him as a baby, then Tommy join him. A smiling family of four.

Something's wrong though. He can feel it, deep in his bones. Something about this isn't right and he can't figure it out but he knows. He's uneasy, but he keeps looking at the pictures, flipping through them with the vague sense that it's all about to go terribly, terribly wrong and quickly.

He stops on one picture and inspects it closely, trying to see what's wrong with it. Tommy is there, his mother and father… But he's gone. Frowning, he looks closer. Gemma's hand rests on Tommy's shoulder and John's hand on her's, but Jax is no where to be seen. Frantic, he flips to the next photo.

Every photo has Tommy in it. In this world, he is the one to grow up. Not Jax. Fascinated and horrified, Jax keeps watching as the story plays out in pictures. Tommy growing up, getting his first bike, graduating high school, joining the club, a succession of women until one sticks.

A pretty woman, tall and blonde. Gemma smiles in pictures with her, so Jax gets the idea that this is one she approves of. There's a wedding in short order and Tommy looks so happy, Jax can't help but smile. Then are the babies, them growing up, their innocent smiles.

Then, abruptly, all is gone at once. No more pictures, just blank space and darkness. Jax flips through quickly, then with the feeling of doom stronger than ever, grabs the last page and opens it.

A picture that shows nothing but a bloody kutte. Jax stares at it in horror and incomprehension. Where is his family, his brother? Where is everyone he loves? He runs his fingers over the kutte and his words to his mother come ringing back to him.

Teller's die bloody. It doesn't matter if Tommy had been the one to survive or if John hadn't gotten on that bike. Their destiny isn't to live long, happy lives. They live fast and die young. There has never been any other path.

Suddenly he is on his bike, hurtling down a road he has never seen before. Dark forest surrounds him on both sides. He's going too fast, he knows that without even looking down to check. But oddly he's at peace. The forest is fine. It shelters him. It keeps him safe. He keeps going, content.

Then he bursts into the open. He is on a mountain, winding upwards and upwards, still at the same speed. He grips his handlebars a little tighter. He can't slow down, even though he wants to. He has to keep going, higher and higher. The anxiety reaches a fever pitch. Whatever is going to happen is going to be awful, but there's nothing he can do.

"It doesn't matter if it was you or him." Gemma's voice runs through his head. "You're going to die Jackson. Don't be scared." Tommy is alongside him then, riding his favorite bicycle, laughing. Jax smiles at him, remembering how he and his little brother would ride all around Charming, pretending they had Harley's, just like their father.

Then his father is on the other side of Tommy, riding his favorite bike, that iconic Harley that is a symbol and reminder for Jax that he's following in his father's footsteps each and everyday. John looks happy, the young man from pictures Jax hasn't looked at in years. He looks at both his boys proudly and Jax smiles, peaceful even as the bike speeds up.

Then the path levels out and he sees that the end is a cliff, dropping into nothing. The bike pushes itself even faster and John is beaming while Tommy is laughing and Jax is just happy to be back with those he loves and has missed so much that he doesn't even think for a moment to stop. He raises his hands up and closes his eyes, calm.

"JAX!" Tara's voice screams and he jolts awake, opening his eyes. He's not on a mountain, he's not on his bike, and his father and brother are nowhere to be seen. He's in bed and Tara is asleep next to him, her body warm and heavy with sleep, and her expression tranquil.

He breathes deeply, trying to get his calm back. He's fine. Everything is fine. But the nagging feel deep in his gut, that of bad anxiety that things aren't done going wrong yet still lingers.

* * *

 _"You get to join your family!" –Abel riding home_

He's so breathless with anger and shock that it takes him until he's hit the highway to feel like his chest can expand again. His hands are steady but the rest of his body is trembling. He drives for an hour before he stops at a gas station and leans there, taking deep breaths.

(-)

"Don't go there!" Wendy yells.

"Why?" Abel asks defiantly.

"You don't need to." Wendy spits.

"Yes I do!" He responds furiously. "He was my dad! And you're sure as hell not ever going to talk about it, so I might as well go there where people will."

"You don't know what kind of people they are Abel." She informs him and he rolls his eyes.

"They're my people. And you can take me away from them, but I'm going back. And you can't stop me." He declares.

(-)

He straightens up and pays for his gas, checking over his bags and making sure they're still tightly attached to his bike. Then he swings his leg over the bike again and sets out for the wide stretch of road. As he crosses the expanse of dry land, he can't help that excitement is building.

He's never been home, though he's traced this route for as long as he can remember. There was a giant map of the roads of California in his 6th grade classroom and everyday he would run his finger along the long road that would guide him up towards Charming.

His mother has never made the trip. Talk of Charming was nearly forbidden growing up. But for Abel, that word on a map represented a whole side of himself that he had suppressed for so long, until one day when he was fourteen, he had jokingly sat on a bike and something had clicked. Where he belonged wasn't Norco, it was Charming. And now he's finally going.

He's aware of how long the drive is- nearly 6 hours. Once he gets past hour 3 and stops to scarf down a big of chips from a gas station, he stops feeling like at any moment he's going to turn around and back out of his plans.

(-)

"You can't stop me." He states flatly and his mother's eyes spark with the challenge. Once, he might have backed down from the fury that is radiating off of her, but his anger is almost equal to hers.

"You're not going." She says, as though it should be obvious and he gives a humorless laugh, holding up his bags.

"I am. Don't try to talk me out of it, mom." He straightens his shoulders and draws up to his full height.

"Abel Brendan Teller." She warns and he quirks an eyebrow. "Please." Her tone shifts from fury to sadness so quickly that he's momentarily stunned into dropping his guard. "If you go there…" She whispers.

"What? What will happen? I'll finally find out who my dad was? Who he really was? Instead of all those memories I have of him and the perfect, happy stories you tell me and Tommy? That's not who dad was. I have to know who my father really was. I'm 50% him." He reminds her.

"Sometimes I think you're 100% his." She mutters, leaning against the wall and sighing heavily. "You won't like what you find out there." She cautions him and he shrugs.

"That's better than not knowing anything." He says and she watches him quietly for a long time.

"If you go there, you won't ever come home." She utters and something deep in his gut twists.

"Time for me to find home then." He decides.

(-)

He's close enough now that there are signs for Charming starting to appear. The landscape has faded from city to countryside, with the rolling, dry hills. He's trying to take it all in, trying to place the man he remembers beside him. He wonders how his father rode, what it would've been like to learn from him.

He wants to learn, that's all. His mother thinks that he will become his father here, but that's not what he wants. He remembers the yelling, the screaming, and most of all, the deaths. The mother that was his mother until she wasn't anymore and he found out only Tommy could truly claim her love.

Tommy doesn't have interest here. At least not yet. Abel didn't either for a long time, but there's no denying nature. Over time, things that didn't have a meaning suddenly took on so much. He learned the call of a glossy black bird that shared a name with something he only faintly remembered. The ring that was hidden was brought out and pondered over more and more. He found himself watching the bikers enter and exit a bar. A crow needs a flock. A murder. He began to long for home, for where he had started life.

He sees the exit approaching and he takes a deep breath, following it. Nothing looks familiar, but he didn't expect to remember anything. He doesn't recall sights or locations. It's all feelings and emotions and sounds. Sometimes a whiff of something that he can't identify will float by and he'll be tossed back to a big wooden table with a tall, dark haired woman kissing his head.

He wants the stories and explanations behind these memories, so he can sort out the jumble they've become in his head. He wants clarity and closure so he can become someone. Put all the pieces of his past together so that his future is simpler. That's all he wants.

He knew better than to ask his mother for the address to the clubhouse. Instead, he looked up the automotive shop, since he knows they're conjoined. He follows directions through Charming, trying not to look left or right, out of fear of what he might see.

When he finally enters the small street and sees the grey gates ahead of him, his stomach truly begins to hurt. He takes another breath. He won't be seen as scared or weak. He'll be strong for this. He has to be.

The gates are open and he guides his bike in, ignoring the flood of memories that he's held so tightly to. A playground use to sit there. The bikes are lined up just like he remembers them. Shaking, he backs his own bike into the line, wondering what his father would say if he saw this.

He cuts the engine and sits there for a long moment. SAMCRO. Charming. Home. Father. Mother. Grandmother and grandfather and uncles and family. So many things are swarming in his mind that he knows if he takes time to think them through, he'll flee. So he reaches up and unbuckles his helmet, hanging it on his handlebars. He takes off his sweatshirt and gets off the bike, walking towards the clubhouse slowly. He wants to soak this in.

"My name is Abel Brendan Teller. I've come to talk to someone about my father, Jackson Nathaniel Teller." He says loudly, looking around at the old men with grey hair, two younger men that are staring at him in shock, and a tall blonde girl watching him with extreme distrust. He stares steadily at an older man, with grey hair, blue eyes, and facial scars approaching him with an odd expression. He knows this man and this man knows him. Blue eyes meets blue eyes.

The son has come home.

* * *

 _Why Tig can't pull the trigger_

When he was younger, he had longed for a brother, or at least siblings. Someone to be there with him, always. Someone that didn't have a choice whether to love him or not. Tig had struggled to make friends in school. He didn't understand their games and they didn't understand his. He was fine with being a loner, but that didn't stop him from wanting a brother to always have by his side.

Brotherhood. That's why Tig came to join the club. He had found it in the Marines. The way they had had his back at any moment. He had longed for that for years after the service. The wholehearted trust and loyalty to each other. Brothers in arms and in life.

But now, with his gun aimed at the back of Opie's head, all the strength in the world can't make him pull the trigger. His ample training with guns and killing fails him now. He can't do it.

He's swore a lot of vows in his life, many that he has kept and a few that he hasn't. But promising loyalty to the club was greater than his loyalty to Clay and his private decisions. If the club as a whole had voted on this and agreed it were the only course of action, maybe he would be able to do this.

Opie had saved his life, without hesitation. He'd murdered these men easily for the sake of Tig, who had frozen. He wants to kick himself, because he's still frozen. But he's not going to pull the trigger.

This brotherhood, it's been his everything. Not his family, despite his love for Dawn and Fawn. This club is his life and the men in it are like an extension of him. He can't just murder one. So he takes a deep breath and makes up his mind. He won't do it, not when Opie is looking at him.

He has a wife, kids. He did five years in prison for the club. Tig still remembers him as young Opie, barely old enough to drink a beer, laughing and joking with the club. He can't end that life. He doesn't know if he could live with that on his soul. He's killed plenty of people before, but he's never killed a brother. And now he's not sure if he can.

* * *

 _"Love you back."_

"It's been 6 months and you wanna say I love you?" Jax asks Opie incredulously. Opie glares at him.

"Didn't you blurt that out to Tara the same time you asked her to be your girlfriend?" He points out and Jax makes a face, waving a hand.

"I was drunk. We haven't said it since." He says dismissively.

"So you don't love her?" Opie asks and Jax ponders it for a long moment.

"All the… Tools are there. But actually saying it…" He hesitates, spinning the ring on his pinky finger like he always does when he's thinking hard about something. "That makes it really real. Like I don't think I've ever said it to any woman besides my mom."

"Well, I think I love Donna." Opie decides.

"Of course you do." Jax scoffs and Opie gapes at him. "She's all you talk about, you wanna see her even when it was suppose to be just me and you, you're basically planning your life around her, and you don't just like her ass. So, if that's not love my friend..."

"How does Tara date you?" Opie wonders aloud and Jax shrugs.

"How you gonna tell her?" He asks, interested.

Opie holds the door to the restaurant open, palms sweaty. Donna smiles up at him as she passes him and her sweet perfume wafts up to him, making him smile slightly. She's her typical talkative self as they lead them to their table and she slides into her chair.

"Thank you." She says, taking her menu and inspecting it. "Op, this is fancy." She mutters and his mouth goes dry.

"Uh, well, you, uh, deserve, the, the, uh, yeah." He stammers but she seems too engrossed in the menu to notice his stutter.

"What are you going to have? I don't think I can finish any of these pastas." She mummers, forehead wrinkled.

"Oh, uh…" Opie says, fumbling to open his menu and scanning it hastily. "The, uh, yeah. Pasta. Pasta is good." He says and she looks up, raising her eyebrows. "What?" He asks.

"Nothing, you just don't like pasta. But I'm proud of you for branching out." She says, smiling and looking back down at her menu.

He pokes around his pasta, slightly frustrated with himself for not focusing and ordering something that he actually does like, because Donna is always right. She's oblivious, chatting away about school and her father's impending return. Opie can't focus.

He wants to make it special. He doesn't want to blurt it out. He wants it to be sweet and something that she remembers for the rest of her life. It's the first time he'll ever say it, in a long line of saying it frequently. So this time means more than all the times.

He sits and sweats as the waiter takes their plates then brings them the check, then returns with the change and a smile, bidding them goodbye. His palms are still sweaty when she catches his hand in hers and walks out of the restaurant towards his bike.

"Donna, wait." He says, taking a deep breath and tugging her to a stop. She looks up at him with big eyes. "I, I have something to tell you."

"What?" She asks and suddenly his mouth is too dry to even swallow. He struggles for a couple seconds.

"I, uh, wanted, um, we've been, uh, dating… For a long time? And, uh, I thought we, uh, should maybe… Um… I've been thinking!" He declares and she raises an eyebrow slightly, a small smile playing in the corners of her mouth. "About you and me." He continues and she smiles a bit bigger. "And, I wanted to tell you, well…" He trails off and she ducks her head, laughing.

"I love you." She whispers, stretching up on her tiptoes and kissing him deeply then buries her head in his chest for a second before peering up and him and grinning. He begins to laugh, shaking his head.

"Love you back." He says, kissing her forehead three teams before taking her hand and leading her to his bike.

He doesn't want to say 'I love you too'. That seems fake. That seems like his love is an afterthought to hers and it's a response rather than a declaration. But he loves her back. Equally, fiercely, strongly loves her. So that's what he tells her, rather than anything else. That's what she deserves to be told.

That becomes their thing, through the rest of high school and into their marriage. Their kids pick up on it and it becomes a family thing. It's his constant reminder that their love goes two ways. It is between the two of them and it requires care and tenderness to keep growing.

He will never forget the first time he told her that. And he will never forget the last.

 **AN:** So these are my favorites... If you like Abel riding home, I suggest you go check out my other SOA story, hint hint. Otherwise leave me reviews, please? Next weekend will be the final episode and possibly a little surprise, so let me know what you think...


	13. Season 1- The Revelator

Episode 13: The Revelator

 _Tara hearing about Donna at the hospital_

"Hey, how'd it go?" A nurse asks, walking passing Tara and depositing a chart on the counter. When Tara looks at her, uncomprehending, she adds, "Taking Abel home! Didn't he go home last night?"

"Oh! Yeah, it was good. Really good." She bluffs and the nurse smiles, touching her arm.

"Well I'm glad." She says, smiling and bouncing off. Tara takes a deep breath and rubs her forehead, then picks the chart up and heads off. She spends the entire morning completely in her own head, puzzling out her true thoughts on what had happened at the party. She's still distracted at lunch, when she grabs a salad to go and sits at the far end of one of the tables.

"It's just so sad." One nurse says to the other, shaking her head.

"Well, in my opinion, is anyone surprised?" The other nurse says, with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Tara, desperate for anything that will stop her from focusing on Jax, listens in.

"Well, I mean, we all figured, with a husband that spent 5 years in prison, obviously he was involved with the wrong people."

"The whole club is." The nurse says disdainfully and Tara briefly clenches her fork tightly.

"Well, I mean, she had two kids. And now they don't have a mother anymore." The other one clucks and Tara's blood runs cold. There can be no denying what they're saying- a husband that spent time in prison, two kids, a quiet wife… Donna is the only one who fits.

"Excuse me, what happened?" She butts in bluntly and both look mildly affronted, exchanging looks.

"Well, Donna Winston got brought in last night. DOA." One says, infusing her voice with fake sympathy. "She got shot."

"Shot?" Tara demands, salad forgotten. "When? Where? By who?" The ER nurse shrugs.

"She came in pretty late last night. Hit and run type thing, police didn't say anything. It was brutal." She says and Tara's head is spinning. She pushes away from the table, leaving the nurses and her lunch behind.

She heads to the first quiet place she can think of- the chapel. Church has never appealed to her but the chapel has peace and space and no one will think to disturb her there. She collapses on the pew, surprised to find that her body is shaking. Once she's still, she begins to process and the tears begin, unrelenting.

Her body heaves with the great sobs she's letting out. She hasn't cried like this in ages and she's not quite sure how to make it stop. Donna had been her friend in high school. She had been there for Tara when she was trying to figure things out with Jax. She had always smiled and laughed with her, shaking their heads over whatever Jax and Opie were up to.

Their friendship had faded, like a lot of the relationships Tara carried from Charming to school, but she had heard about Donna having babies and smiled at the idea of that. Donna's nurturing personality would make her a great mom and Tara was happy that her and Opie seemed so in love.

She tries all the techniques that work when she's lost a patient- catching her breath, counting down from 100, naming all the bones in the body in order, trying to figure out her heart rate, but nothing works. She simply has to ride out the waves of sobs wracking her body.

Flashes of their past keep rising up- that party Donna dragged her to, the first night she realized her feelings for Jax were real, how she had told Donna before anyone else that Jax Teller had kissed her and how Donna squealed, grabbing her hands. Happy, sweet, patient, kind Donna. Who liked Tara and stayed at her house despite her father.

Her breathing stabilizes, but her grief doesn't. Never again will she go to Donna for advice or to complain. The one person who understood Tara and Jax's relationship from the moment it started is gone. That girl is gone, she will not come back, and Tara feels miserable.

Ken and Ellie. Opie. Piney. They're going to be devastated. Her heart aches for them. She knows all too well how hard it will be to grow up without a mother. Opie can't raise them on his own. She shudders to think about Gemma influencing his parenting choices. She takes a couple more deep breaths, wiping the tears off of her face and standing up. She looks up to the front of the chapel, her lips curling into a sneer.

She hasn't believed in a god since the day she walked out of a church that fateful day she said goodbye to her mother. She doesn't believe that there is any god that would let this happen. Every child should have their mother. She clears her tears once more and straightens out her lab coat. She can break down later.

* * *

 _Donna as Piney's daughter_

"Dad…" Opie says hesitantly, leaning around and fixing him with a firm gaze. "I have a girl coming over today."

"So?" Piney grunts from the recliner.

"Don't be… Yourself." Opie states and Piney looks up, frowning. Opie shrugs, clearly not sorry. Grumbling, Piney changes the channels.

"Opie, door!" He yells when it rings and Opie sprints out of his room, sliding around the corner and lunging for the door. He yanks it open and a short girl, with long brown hair and warm eyes walks in, looking around in interest.

"Hi-Donna-this-is-my-dad-ok-we-can-go-to-my-room." He says in one long word and Donna smiles, like she's use to this.

"Hi, Mr. Winston. I'm Donna." She says, leaning around Opie and smiling.

"Call me Piney." He says automatically and she nods, still smiling, then glances up at Opie, who appears to be frozen in fear.

"Opie and Piney. I love your family names." She comments and Opie manages a strangled laugh before dragging her towards his room. Piney chuckles. He likes that girl.

(-)

"Hi Piney." Donna says cheerfully from the kitchen, taking a pot off the stove and setting it on the table.

"Donna, what are you doing?" He asks.

"Supper." She says, putting on oven mitts and opening it, leaning back from the heat. Opie watches apprehensively from the counter.

"Why?" Piney asks skeptically.

"Because Opie couldn't decide if he wanted Chinese or Mexican or chicken and I got sick of waiting." She explains, setting the mitts aside and gesturing to the table. "So we can have supper."

"You don't have to cook." Piney says flatly.

"Doesn't bother me." She says, with a little shrug. "My dad thinks it's essential for a woman to cook, so I got an education in that whether I liked it or not." Opie's little snort makes her smile and she sits down, scooping up some of the pasta and putting it on her plate. Opie joins her.

"Wow, Donna, this is amazing." He says, shoveling more into his mouth.

"Easy, you're gonna choke." She says, laughing, and even Piney has to admit that it's good.

"You don't have to do this Donna." He says and she smiles at him then looks back to Opie.

"I don't mind, really. It's fun cooking for you two. You appreciate it more than my mom or dad. They usually finds the faults in it." She says.

"It's just nice having a home cooked meal." Opie comments before avoiding his father's gaze. Hate it as he does, Piney knows he's right.

(-)

"What's for supper tonight?" He asks, walking in and sniffing the air.

"Opie is grilling chicken!" Donna calls back and he continues to the backyard. Opie is turning several pieces over.

"Didn't even know this thing still works." Piney comments, gesturing to the grill and Opie chuckles.

"It was a bitch getting it started, let me tell you that." He mutters, shaking some seasoning on them.

"Well, considering no one has used it since your mom and I were married…" Piney trails off then goes to grab a plate.

"What's this?" Opie asks, looking at the large bowl of greens in the middle of the table.

"That's a salad." Donna explains. "You cut up your chicken and put it on top of salad. Then you eat."

"Where's the sides? The potatoes? Chips? Fries?" Opie asks, looking around and Donna rolls her eyes.

"No fries. Cut up fruit. You need to eat healthier." She chides. "You too Piney." She says, pointing to him.

"I'm in perfectly good shape!" Opie protests.

"For now you are. But that's not going to last forever. So I'm trying to get you two a little healthier by eating some more green things and less greasy things." She says tartly and Opie pouts, wrinkling his nose and eating a piece of lettuce.

(-)

"Hey Piney." Donna says sweetly, leaning against the wall and grinning.

"Hey sweetie, how are you?" He asks, distractedly looking at a map, trying to figure out what route he'll take this run.

"Piney." She repeats and he looks up, confused. She smiles and wiggles her finger, making the diamond sparkle.

"Oh, Donna." He says, embracing her in a brief hug.

"He asked last night." She says, leaning back and smiling, admiring the ring for a moment. "I'm assuming you might have had something to do with it." She teases, eyes twinkling.

"Well, you know Opie." He says, bustling around the kitchen to hide the fact that tears are gathering in his eyes.

"Yeah, he's something…" She trails off into quiet for a moment then takes a deep breath. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to… To give me away." She spills out.

"Donna…" He says, touched. He's well aware that Donna's parents had divorced and her father had expressly forbidden her from seeing Opie, a direct order that she ignored and has caused their relationship to fall apart. "Of course." He agrees and she bobs her head.

"Ok, I just wanted to check, you know, cause I wasn't sure if you'd wanna do that, cause I mean, I know you might not want to, or it's not really, I wasn't sure," She blathers and Piney catches her hand.

"I'm glad you're finally going to be my daughter." He says truthfully and she breaks into a tearful smile.

* * *

 _Little Jax at the head chair_

"Jackson!" Gemma yells loudly, shading her eyes with her hand and frowning. She inspects the entire parking lot.

"What's wrong?" Lowell asks with concern, walking over and wiping his oily hands on his pants.

"Oh nothing, I just can't find Jax." She says, waving a hand.

"I'll check the shop." He says instantly.

"Thanks Lowell." She mutters, glancing at the street with trepidation then hurrying back into the clubhouse. "Jackson!" She says warningly. "C'mon, it's time to go." She calls.

"Where's Jax?" Otto asks, looking up at her and Gemma bites her lip.

"He was just outside. I'm sure he's off playing somewhere." She says, trying and failing to sound dismissive.

"Did you check the shop?" Otto asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Lowell is." She reassures him and Otto heads behind the bar while Gemma inspects the rest of the room. Jax is known for his stealth, even as a four year old. She straightens up, shaking her head when Otto looks inquiringly over the bar. He makes a face.

"You check the dorms, I'll check the chapel?" He suggests and she nods, heading that way. When that search fails to turn up a blond hair, blue eyed boy with a smile the size of California, she's beginning to feel worry. She hurries back and spots Otto leading against the doors to the chapel.

"Did you…" Her words die on her lips as she follows Otto's line of sight. She stops and watches, lost for words.

Jax is curled up in the head chair, where his father sits; fast asleep, clutching the gavel in one fist. Gemma smirks, leaning against the opposite door and watching her son sleep.

"Funny, how that's the one he picked." Otto mummers quietly.

"Not funny at all. He loves being in charge." Gemma clarifies, watching with satisfaction.

"Fitting then, that he did. Little glimpse of his future." Otto comments and Gemma feels a rush of pride.

"I should take a picture. John would love this." She says thoughtfully.

"Something tells me this won't be the only time it happens." Otto says, clasping her shoulder. "I'll go tell Lowell we found him."

"Thanks." Gemma mutters, moving into the room and sitting down. She watches Jax sleep for a long moment, just pondering this.

He's only four years old. The chair dwarfs him. His blond hair stands in stark contrast to the black leather. He's still a little small for his age, something the doctors assure her has nothing to do with his problem heart, but she still frets over endlessly.

He'll have to grow up. Get tough. He's already pretty tough. She's seen him take his bumps and bruises on the playground without shedding a tear. It seems that he has Teller smarts and Madock grit. It'll serve him well, she's sure. So she lets him sleep. At least he's still for once.

It's an odd feeling, seeing her entire life work before her eyes. Jax, at the head of the table, where he belongs. Following in his father's footsteps, like he should. She tries to memorize this moment, so that when he is a grown man and no longer her little boy, she can remember when he could curl up into this chair and fall fast asleep. Her little Jackson.

"Well, look at that." A quiet voice mutters in her ear and she smiles up at John. He wraps his arms around her, looking at Jax rather than her.

"Just like his daddy." Gemma remarks, kissing John's cheek. "Think you can move him without waking him up?"

"Doubtful, but it's better he wake up so he actually falls asleep tonight." He decides, leaving her and gently picking up Jax's small frame, cradling his son into his shoulder.

"Put him in the car, we should get going." Gemma says and John nods, walking out of the clubhouse, sure to shield Jax's eyes from the bright sunlight. Gemma follows, smiling and waving to Otto and Lowell.

"I'll be home soon." John promises, straightening up from sliding Jax into the backseat. Gemma nods, kissing him. They both pause, looking at their peacefully sleeping son.

* * *

 _"You're losing control. Just like he did." The wedding and why_

Gemma can't pinpoint when she fell in love with Clay. She was aware of his desire, ever since she married John. But back then, she had been so busy being the queen and raising her son, then fighting so hard for Thomas that she hadn't even thought to encourage it.

It was John's stint in prison that really started it all. Clay had avoided it and he became her rock in the face of life without John there. Then she had lost Thomas, that terrible, terrible moment and suddenly it was Clay she wanted before bed, not John.

When John got out of prison, his grief over Thomas wasn't of fire and ice like herself. He was limp, full of guilt for missing the death of his child, full of doubt in himself and the future. Gemma was repulsed at the broken man she found on her hands. She never wanted to stray from her husband. John just didn't give her a choice. It was his fault.

Clay was there for her. That was it, at first. He was the one who pulled her out of bed. The one who made her open her eyes and see Jax again. She still had a healthy son, one who loved her and needed her. Clay reminded her of that and he reminded her of what a man should do.

While John spiraled out of control, Clay seized it. He was in command and it was clear what direction the winds were shifting, even to Jax. At first, Clay and Gemma tried so hard to be careful. They kept it at the club, when no one was looking. The discretion made it all the more fun.

But then it was like John didn't even care. He didn't notice when Gemma sat on Clay's lap at the clubhouse. He was too busy being wrapped up in his journals to care. And if Gemma had to pinpoint a moment when she lost it that would be it. Her, leaning down to whisper in Clay's ear. Him, grabbing her ass and putting his mouth on her neck to whisper back. John, unfocused and uncaring, lost in thought at the other end of the table.

She doesn't remember when the planning began. She remembers Clay's murmured voice in her ear one night, wondering if this wouldn't all be easier if John was just out of the picture. But John would never leave his two children, SAMCRO and Jax. He would fight for them. And as long as he was president, Gemma was queen, and she wouldn't lose her title.

Then it became less of a joke. It was a shared disgust, over John's inability to lead the club. Passion, as Clay reminded her of the woman she'd once been. And slowly but surely, there were things said in the darkest of night, under the cover of blankets that chilled and scared her, but made her certain all the same.

Her legacy was Jax and his inheritance was this club. If his father ruined it, Jax and her life's work would be completely void. The more she watched John retreat into his shell, the more she saw it as being selfish and taking away his son's future from him. And Gemma would be damned if she let that happened.

Then when the leaves turned and died, she found herself as a widow and a single mother. John's absence hardly changed anything, he had been so distant for so long. The only significant change was her love for Clay, now able to be public for the first time. It wasn't months later she found herself with another ring on her finger and a wedding to plan.

"I want simple." She announces to Clay.

"Sure baby, whatever you want." He mutters, flipping through a magazine and she rolls her eyes, swatting it aside. He looks up at her, exasperated.

"Courthouse wedding. How's that sound?" She asks and he sighs, leaning forward and rubbing his face.

"If that's what you want to do, I'm fine with it. I've never expected you to be the white wedding dress in a church type Gemma. As long as you're getting on my bike at the end of it, we could do it at the clubhouse for all I care." He declares, flipping through the magazine pages once more.

"Then I'm doing a huge wedding." She says, watching for his reaction.

"Just get some of that lace for the night." He says, without missing a beat. "That's all I care about is the after." A smirk crosses her face and she turns, leaving the living room.

In the end, it's the club at the courthouse. Clay wears his kutte and shows up exactly 10 minutes before the ceremony. Luanne is once again the maid of honor, helping Gemma adjust the short, tight dress she wears. Jax is there, watching from besides Piney and Opie. Their vows are short and non-traditional, more promises to have and to hold, through better and worst. Personally, Gemma thinks they've already gone through the worst.

She adores Clay from that moment on. He's unafraid to take control in any situation. He commands the club and the attention of Charming. Gemma grows to love how he seeks her counsel and confides in her. Their schemes grow the club and bring her even more power.

She loves him. He's strong where John had been weak. He is a fighter by nature, not a lover. But she tames him just enough. The difference between her two husbands is never more apparent than when she compares them side-by-side in her mind. Until years pass, and similarities arise. There's something about having power that Gemma loves. And once they don't have it anymore, she's not sure what there is to love anymore.

* * *

 _The sight of the bikes_

Charming isn't a big town. By the standards of California, it's a small town. But the thing that shrinks Charming in size is the Sons of Anarchy and it's looming presence over everything. So when bikes roll in, it takes the attention of every resident that sees it. The parade of bikes means something to everyone, regardless of who they are.

"Whoa." Charlotte breathes, skidding to a stop and throwing out her arm so Ashley and Chelsea do too.

"What?" Ashley asks, annoyed and Charlotte throws her an incredulous look, pointing down the street. The rumble of the bike grows, catching the other two girls' attention and they lean forward on the curb, peering down the street with breathless anticipation.

The bikes round the corner moments later, the roar becoming nearly overwhelming. The parade of bikes is more than the usual couple and all three girls are awed into silence, watching as they pass.

The men on them look so scary, the women on them so strong. They try to count the bikes passing and lose count, instead watching as they go by, each bike different and each rider wearing the same kutte.

"I'm gonna be like them when I grow up." A boastful voice says from behind them and Ashley doesn't even turn around as she retorts,

"Shut up Tanner."

"I am!" He protests. "They're so cool. Look at that." He admires a particularly loud and shiny bike.

"You're too lame." Another boy teases and Tanner swings at him, the girls rolling their eyes and moving out of the way.

"That's the end of it." Ashley says, watching the last rider disappearing around the corner.

"I wonder why they're here." One boy remarks.

"You know Ellie Winston? She's like a grade younger than us." Chelsea says, sounding bored. "Her mom died. I heard my mom talking about it, cause she's a nurse at the hospital."

"Wow, that's sad." Ashley mutters.

"Isn't her dad in the club?" Tanner asks and Chelsea nods.

"That's why they're all here." Charlotte says confidently, looking both ways and crossing the street, walking in front of the police station.

Inside, staring between the blinds, David Hale watches as the bikes go by, forehead wrinkled and lip between his teeth. His anger is blind as the bikes and their riders go past. Nothing good will come from this, he knows.

"How much you wanna bet some of them have outstanding warrants?" An officer comments, walking in and seeing where Hale's attention is.

"All of them do, but that's not what's important right now." He mutters, closing the shades. He might be able to block out the sight of the bikes, but there's no dimming the sound. "We focus on Donna Winston's murderer."

"It was retaliation for something the club did." The officer protests. "Give the club a week and they're have sorted it out and got revenge."

"So we need more blood on our hands?" Hale demands sharply. "We figure it out, we end this war before it starts. No more innocents." Stunned, the officer raises his hands and walks out. Hale hangs his head, sighing.

He'd gone to high school with Donna. She'd always been busy with Opie, but she was smart and Hale remembered they'd had a class or two together. She'd been talkative but not overtly so and she'd never let on at the drama going on with her parents in school.

He feels responsible for this, for her death. If he could just stop the club and all the lawlessness they brought, she'd still have her life. This one is personal. He's motivated to end SAMCRO.

He can't sit here anymore, feeling useless and overwhelmed at the amount of outlaws in his town. He knows Unser won't do anything, the pathetic old man that lives under the boot of Clay Morrow. So he grabs his keys and walks through the station, ignoring the questions about where he's going.

He'll make a difference if it kills him. He hops in the jeep, turning the key and leaving the parking lot, following the rumble of the bikes. It's easy to follow the route they're taking. Their destination is the club, where they'll gather and drink, mourn the loss of a woman that hated everything they stand for then escort her casket to where she'll rest.

He slows down when he drives past the club, looking inside the open gate with barely restrained disgust. He wants them to know that they are at fault here. They are why a mother is dead. As the gate shuts, he feels the burning rage in his chest intensify to a level so large he wants to burst.

Tig closes the gate, still feeling numb. It's like his body has been doused in ice and left there. He killed Donna and Clay's trying to cover up his guilt with an overwhelming display of support. It just makes Tig feel guiltier.

"Hey, is that everyone?" Juice says, jogging to catch up with him and Tig is jerked out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, should be." He mutters.

"Ok, we'll start putting stickers on then." Juice says, patting his shoulder and running off again. Tig flinches. The orange stickers, proclaiming 'funeral'. It might as well be an admission of guilt. As he takes the sticker passed to him and gently applies it to his bike, he wants to break down again.

He straightens up, taking a deep breath and trying to compose himself. He looks down the line of bikes and members mingling between them, applying their own stickers. All his brothers.

He takes strength from this sight. These are the people that have his back, no matter what happens. He made a mistake, that's all. But it wasn't Opie that lost his life, it was just Donna. Just a wife. He straightens out the sticker and walks back into the clubhouse.

There are already beers being handed out. Tig takes something a little stronger. Clay, across the room speaking to other presidents, catches his eye and nods. Tig nods back. He can handle this. He'll get through it. He shoves the guilt down and takes a swig.

At the yell of Clay, the men file out the door, heading for bikes. Not all of them are going to the church service, but most are heading that way to do their duty of escorting the casket. Tig's not sure if he's ready for that, but he throws his leg over his bike and falls in line.

It's a closed casket, thank god, and Opie is so surrounded by people offering their condolences that Tig successfully manages to avoid him the entire service. He sits, stony faced, through it. He's had a lot of practice shoving things down and he uses all that training now.

Finally, it ends and they spill out of the church. Donna's casket is put into the hearse and after a long conversation with the driver, Clay signals for them to fall into line. Two by two, the bikes pull out into the street.

Gemma stands on the sidewalk, watching as pairs of bikes goes by. She watches Clay lead and Opie directly in front of his wife's hearse. Jax is notably missing, but she's sure that he'll be there.

"C'mon." She says, guiding Wendy and Mary away from the sight and towards their cars. "Let's go."

"What an awful sight." Mary mutters, still transfixed by the bikes and Gemma follows her line of sight. The bikes, still in pairs, are slowly passing by, offering protection. Traffic is stopped in all directions.

"I think it's beautiful." Gemma remarks and Mary looks up at her, her expression unreadable.

"Of course you do. How did you feel when it was your son's casket that they were safeguarding?" She quips and Gemma goes rigid, brought back to that day in a flash. Thomas's casket was smaller and the men were fewer, but the sight is so similar. She opens her mouth, unsure of what will come out, but Wendy catches her arm and gently pulls.

"The girls want you to lead." She says, quietly but firmly, and Gemma leaves Mary where she is, on the sidewalk, Ken and Ellie standing forlornly at her side. Gemma jerkily climbs into her car, watching as the women behind her open their own car doors and get in.

She falls in line, behind the last motorcycle but before Wayne's police car and dozens of other cars do as well. She wants to dwell on Mary's words but she can't. She just focuses on the bikes ahead of her and where they're leading. She's always followed them.

* * *

 _3 most important women in Jax's life_

Baptized in the cold, clear water. Hangover long forgotten, he approaches the funeral from across the cemetery. His heart is heavy at the loss of Donna. Sweet Donna, kind and sassy, always there with a quick remark and a smile. Opie's girl, wife, and mother of his children. The one who'd kept him steady in the wake of Tara's leaving.

He's angry and sad. He's heartbroken for Ken and Ellie, who deserve to have their mother for so much longer than these couple years. But now he has focus and a vision, a path he had tried to drown in a bottle that he knows he has to take now. So he strides with purpose to the funeral.

His mother and Wendy sit in the front row, Clay standing behind them. Jax ignores them. He can't bring himself to look at his mother, with her pitying and imploring gaze. He doesn't want to look at Wendy and remind himself of the confusion in his heart over her, the mother of his son.

He shifts his gaze down the line, past Mary, Piney, Opie, the kids, and women he recognizes from clubs across the coast. Tara sits at the end and he wants to breathe of sigh of relief that she's still here and hasn't left, before remembering high school. Tara and Donna were inseparable, laughing beside the bikes and rolling their eyes at Jax and Opie.

Three women in a row, flanked and backed by the club. Three women that have changed his life, for better or for worse. Three women that he loves, he hates, and he can't ever forget. His mother, his wife, and his love. Tara stands, grabbing the kutte from Juice's hands and his heart soars.

This small gesture means so much. He sees from the corner of his eye, his mother removing her sunglasses with a look of disbelief. She recognizes this. She knows it's Tara's way of committing to him, to the club. And where Jax is happy, Gemma will be furious.

Tara stops before him, hesitating, unsure of what she should do. Jax wants to hug her and kiss her, tell her that he is grateful for her and that he too, choses her. But instead she raises the kutte and he slips it on, feeling its heavy weight. He's not sure what's going to happen, but he's hanging on for the ride.

Tara slips her fingers into his hair and he catches her hips, dipping down to kiss her. He doesn't want to break Wendy's heart, but this is how it needs to be. Her sobriety should be more important to her than any relationship she's trying to form with Jax. He's seen firsthand how hard it is to love an addict when they slip back, and in all honesty, Tara is a better mother.

He loves her more. He always has, through his relationship with Wendy and all the others. He knows the amount of hell this will bring down from his mother, but he's weathered it once and he'll do it again for Tara. Right now the most important thing is for him to put his attention on the club and his plans for it.

He draws back, looking into Tara's hazel eyes and knows the question she's going to ask before she does. He loves her the most. He picks her. He's willing to risk his mother's wrath and the club's judgment, all for her.

"Yeah." He mutters, nodding and watching her smile grow. He goes to pay his final respects to the wife of his best friend, plucking a flower and holding it to his nose, inhaling with his gaze fixed across the casket.

Clay. Tig. Gemma. Wendy. All so far from where he wants to be. His mother made him who he is. Tara makes him who he wants to be. That is their difference, their starkest disparity. Strong, loving, stubborn, proud. Tara is so much like his mother and yet so far from it.

Wendy is just caught in the middle. Not quite his mother, not quite Tara. The bridge that's not even strong enough to support itself. He loves her for giving him Abel and he loves her for being there. But he is no longer in love with her and it's unfair to pretend as such.

He stares them down, a challenge in his eyes even as he holds the delicate flower. Change needs to come and it will be brought on the back of Donna Winston's murder. His time has come. He places the floor on top of the pile and walks away. He has people to see.

 **AN:** Uff, and there's the beast of a season finale... Lots of stories, finally the Gemma/Clay wedding, which I thought was fitting here. I'm going to take a break from posting next week, just so I can work on season 2, but I'm thinking my Jax/Tara story will finally go up, so keep an eye out for that... Please leave me reviews, they really motivate me to write. Thanks for reading!


	14. Season 2- Albification

**Season 2**

Episode 1: Albification

 _"Take care of him Jax."_

"You're taking forever." Jax complains, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet impatiently.

"Yeah, cause riding a bike that doesn't have a chain is gonna be so easy." Opie mutters sarcastically, attempting to pull the chain back on. Jax groans and falls onto the grass.

"We're gonna be late." He warns and Opie twists to look at him.

"Then help!" He orders and Jax makes a face, getting up. With the effort of both of them, the chain finally gets returned to the gears.

"Let's go!" Jax says, hopping on his own bike and flying down the street. Opie follows, the rolling of his eyes slowing him down. He catches up to Jax a couple blocks later and they hurry for the skate park. They pull up and pause cautiously, checking it out.

A couple older boys with skateboards are leaning against the chain-link fence, passing a cigarette and talking. Younger boys are riding the ramps and trying tricks on bikes, but Jax and Opie are the youngest by a large gap. They exchange looks and push the door open, riding in.

"Hey, little Teller and Winston." One boy calls, grinning.

"Hi Stevie." They chorus.

"Want a smoke?" He asks, offering them the cigarette. Another boy smacks his chest and he laughs.

"No thanks." Jax says, laughing and Stevie shrugs.

"What new tricks you learned?" Another kid on a bike asked, riding over and stopping.

"None, I'm still working on my bar spin." Jax says and he raises his eyebrows, nodding.

"Well, listen, we're gonna get out of here and do some riding in town. Stevie and the rest of the wood-pushers want the park. They've got some girls coming over today to watch." He says, with a roll of his eyes. "Wanna come with?" Jax lights up, glancing at Opie.

"Sure." He says eagerly and Opie gives a disinterested shrug.

"Sweet, let's go." He says, and the two young boys join the rest exiting the park and heading down the streets. They jump curbs, cruising down the middle of the street, whooping and laughing. Jax looks at Opie, grinning, and even the normal stoic Opie cracks a grin.

"Oh, look, that'll make a sweet ramp." One of the lead boys calls, gesturing to a construction site. Wooden boards and beams and walls are littered around at various parts. The boys enter, exclaiming their good fortune. Opie pauses, putting his feet down.

"Yeah, cause this is such a good idea." He comments sarcastically and Jax frowns, shrugging.

"If you don't wanna try it, then don't." He says dismissively and Opie suppresses the desire to punch his best friend, instead leaning forward on his handlebars and watching the older boys try throwing tricks, sprawling in the dust and laughing, disentangling themselves from their bikes and debris.

"Opie, let's see it!" One boy yells and Opie waves a hand.

"Scared?" Another taunts and Jax's pleading face emerges in the crowd. Opie makes eye contact with him and Jax gives a tiny jerk of his head towards the ramp. Opie sighs heavily and leans forward.

"Alright." He agrees, backing up and lining himself up with the ramp. The other boys form a path, lined up on each side. Opie takes a deep breath and then pedals hard, teeth gritted.

He knows the instant he hits the ramp that's going to go wrong. It's not the same material as the one in the skate park and he doesn't have enough speed or height. He tries to right himself, but momentum isn't in his favor and he comes crashing back to the ground too quickly. He feels a sharp pain in head then hears a crack and then blackness engulfs him.

Jax watches with horror as Opie's head hit the ground with an audible noise. The other boys gasp loudly. They're all frozen for a long moment then surge forward to look.

"Opie! Opie! Wake up." They order, pushing his shoulders. "C'mon dude, open your eyes. Wake up."

"Something's wrong, he's really hurt." Jax says hollowly and they all back up like they've been burned.

"I'm not getting in trouble cause some little eight year old chickened out of his trick." One older boy says and with chatter that they'd get into so much trouble, they all scatter, leaving Jax kneeling over his bleeding best friend.

"Opie, it's ok. It's ok. I'm gonna take care of you. I got this." Jax says, trying not to panic. Grunting, he lifts his bigger friend onto his back and trudges to his bike. He carefully keeps Opie on his back, pedaling slowly and laboriously towards St. Thomas.

Thankfully, it's only a couple blocks and when Jax collapses in front of it, nurses outside having a smoke break take notice, bringing both boys into the ER. Jax protests being separated from his best friend so strongly that the doctors allow him to be present as they carefully stitch up a cut in Opie's head.

"What in the world happened?" Gemma demands, storming in. She looks between Jax in one hospital bed and Opie in the other, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

"We were out biking." Jax says, by way of explanation.

"I'm fine." Opie insists and Gemma rolls her eyes.

"I can't even trust you two to be safe for five minutes, you wonder why I don't let you out of the house unsupervised, Mary will have a cow when she sees this, where is a damn doctor, I need to talk to them. Someone? Anyone! Nurse!" She rants, sticking her head around the door and the boys grin at each other, smothering laughter.

* * *

 _"Times I'm there, he's sleeping fine."_

"I'm going to bed." Jax whispers in her ear and she looks up from her medical journal, smiling.

"Long day?" She quips and he sighs, rubbing his face.

"Longer than I wanted it to be. Better now." He says, smiling slightly and running a hand across her stomach. She smiles and kisses his head.

"I'll shut the light off when I'm finished with this." She promises and he nods, rolling over and pulling the covers up. She watches him with a small smile for a long moment then continues reading.

She finishes the article and sets it aside, rolling her neck to get the kinks out. She sneaks out of bed, careful not to wake Jax and heads towards the kitchen. She fills a glass up, sipping it and listening to the quiet sounds of the night through a half open window. She sets the empty glass down and heads back to bed, detouring into Abel's room.

"Hi little man." She whispers, leaning over the crib. Abel is fast asleep, arms splayed out above his head, legs spread wide. "Hi." She coos, reaching down and gently rubbing his stomach. She wants desperately to reach down into the crib, but she knows that the joy of cuddling him isn't worth the risk of waking him up from his sleep.

"I love you." She admits, resting her chin on her hand and gazing at the baby. "I love you so much. And I'm not even your mama. I want to be. Oh, I would love to be. I pretend. I pretend to be your mama." It's true; whenever she sees baby clothes, she mentally picks out what would fit Abel. She prepares his food ahead of time so Jax and Gemma have it a little easier.

She watches him sleep, on nights like tonight. She tells herself it's because he's already gone through so much; he shouldn't have to suffer anymore. She's just doing what any rational, normal doctor would do.

Except normal doctors don't sleep with the father of said baby. They don't fantasize about this baby being theirs and they certainly don't dream about giving their patient a sibling. But Tara can't help it. Apparently Abel has inherited his father's ability to make her logic go right out the window.

Abel fusses slightly and she seizes on the chance to scoop him up, gently bouncing him and kissing his forehead, lulling him back into sleep. She walks with him to make sure he truly falls back asleep and pauses in the bedroom, smiling at a fast asleep Jax.

"Sleep like your daddy, little boy." Tara says quietly, smiling as she sees similarity between father and son. "You two cause me so much stress when you're awake." She gently walks back to Abel's bedroom and gingerly lowers him down into his crib, watching for any more fretting.

Abel remains peacefully quiet, breathing steadily and Tara takes another long moment to watch him, smiling at the sight of his rosy lips puckering slightly in his sleep and the way his tiny legs jerk.

She wonders what he's dreaming about. She wonders if he knows the difference between her and Wendy. She wonders if he loves her. She wonders if the boy she considers her son, considers her his mother. She shuts off her worrying and drops a kiss on his forehead. He's getting some sleep, she should too. She climbs in next to Jax and wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his neck and closing her eyes.

* * *

 _Tara's thoughts on Jax's confession "You love the man, you learn to love the club."_

Gemma had told her total disclosure. Of course she had made a jab at Tara's control freak tendencies, but that hadn't rattled Tara. She was use to Gemma's slights and insults. She could handle the abuses Gemma tossed out. It was the affection that startled her.

Gemma has never liked her, which is why when Tara went to her for advice, she was sure that Gemma would tell her to let Jax go, move away, forget her. Gemma liked control as much as Tara. Neither of them shared well. But Tara was sure that any show of hesitation on her part and Gemma would pounce.

But she hadn't. She was nice, she was calm, she was even sweet. Her words rang true. Tara loves Jax. Jax comes with a baby that she loves, an ex wife she hates, and a job that terrifies her. He's not her unblemished 17-year-old boyfriend anymore. It's going to take a different set of rules to make this work this time.

She tries to read, but her stomach is too busy turning knots. She half prays Abel will start fussing, so at least she would have a reason to get up and move around the house. She keeps reading, changing her mind almost as often as she flips the pages. She'll demand Jax tell her everything. Flip. She won't ask him anything because that way he can still be the man she wants him to be in her mind. Flip. She needs to know…

The sound of the key in the lock makes her look up. Jax walks in, long hair falling in his face, his familiar kutte, smelling like smoke, booze, and the clubhouse. Her Jax. She smiles up at him, too happy to have him home to remember her internal war over Gemma's advice.

"Hey." He says softly, tiredly.

"What happened to the party?" She asks.

"Saw Bobby. Didn't feel like staying." He mutters, pulling off his guns and she knows she should be glad at the fact he wasn't staying with hookers and strippers, but something seems even more off.

"What's the matter?" She asks, her stomach turning as she realizes she's going for it.

She's asking, even though the answer may scare her.

"Just tired." He reassures her, shaking his head. "I'm gonna take a shower." He leans down and kisses her cheek, walking towards the bathroom. She's frozen for a long moment.

Does she let it die, like she would've in high school? Not pushing it, not asking, not worrying. Ignorance is bliss. She scrambles off the couch, kicking the blanket to the floor and following Jax, watching him shower.

He's not that stubborn 17 year old anymore, hell bent on protecting her from the ways of the club. And she's not that delicate 15 year old anymore, torn between the man and the future. She's always wanted both. She'll have it.

She picks up his clothes, pulling out the bloody bandana. The sight makes her stomach want to revolt and her legs quiver with the desire to run, but she turns around, holding it. Jax, red and dripping from the hot shower, eyes her levelly as he ties a towel around his waist.

"You know why I run from shit all the time?" She questions, looking straight into his eyes. "Cause I don't trust anyone." She hesitates when Jax looks down but plunges on. "If I'm going to stay I need to know the truth."

"Tell you the truth." Jax repeats and she braces herself for a lie or a dismissal or a platitude.

"Not just what you think I can handle." She says flatly. "I need to know all of it. That's the only way I'll know if I can do this." Jax rubs his face then reaches out to her before taking the bandana. He looks down then slowly raises his eyes to hers and she's struck at how vulnerable he looks.

"I helped Opie kill a man today." He says the words normally, not quickly or as tears run down his face. He could be telling her he lost his keys or forgot to buy milk. They stare at each other evenly, so he continues. "Retaliation for what happened to Donna." She's not sure if she's still breathing, but he continues. "Shot him in the head." He says, giving a tiny shrug. Jax is the first to break eye contact, because Tara is rooted in place. "I'm going to bed." He says quietly, walking away and Tara just watches him.

She's horrified. She's bewildered. She wants to throw up and run. She wants to cradle Abel. She wants to bang down Gemma's door and wail. She wants to charge into the club and hold every man in there accountable for what they did to her Jax, her love.

He killed a man for her. Why was that so easy to rationalize? He killed a man for Donna. He's just doing what he needs to do to protect those he loves. It wasn't like it was innocent children. Bad men, evil men. Men who rape and murder. He's just doing his job.

Gemma's words run through her head as she mindlessly wanders to the laundry room, sorting Jax's clothes into piles, next to Abel's dirty shirts and pants and socks. Tara reaches down and picks one little sock up, running it over in her hand, still in a haze.

Jax has a baby, a son he adores. She's seen him hum a lullaby as he warms up a bottle. She's seen him kiss her neck and grin when she squirms. He's not a stone cold killer. He's the man she fell in love with, just older. Bigger. Stronger. She needs to accept that.

She takes a deep breath and leaves the laundry where it is. Doubtlessly, Gemma will make a snide comment about it, but Tara can't bring herself to care. She stands in the entry, looking down at the bedroom door, then at the front door. She can leave or she can stay. She can run away for the second time and she won't be scared or worried anymore.

But her mind doesn't control her feet, her heart does. She walks down the hallway, feet quietly padding on the carpet. She watches Jax sleep and it feels natural and right. She gently climbs into bed, wrapping her arm around Jax's warm body. He entangles their fingers and she cuddles into his back, the reaper on her cheek. Whatever this is, he's her home now.

 **AN:** And I'm back! It was a lovely little break, I got a couple episodes prepared, since March is going to be such an insane month... And I put out a new Jax/Tara story, called A Prayer for SAMCRO if you wanna see a little more in depth look at some of the stuff I've been hinting on here! Ok, please let me know what you think, I would love a bunch of reviews to start me off with season 2!


	15. Season 2- Small Tears

Episode 2: Small Tears

 _Why Gemma won't talk_

"Doesn't it hurt?" Nate demands, setting Gemma on the counter and inspecting her knee with horror.

"No." Gemma says stoutly, looking at her bleeding knee with interest. Nate looks at her in amazement.

"Wait here, I'll get a band aid." He says and she remains where she is on the counter, watching as more blood oozes out of the scape and down her leg. She observes it for a long moment then notices it's going to drip off her leg and onto the floor. Worried about her mother's reaction, she cups her hand underneath it.

"Daddy, hurry." She says and he looks up from the cupboards. "It's gonna get on the floor." She says and he grabs a dishtowel, wetting it.

"Here, hold this one it." He says. "It might sting." He watches her nervously as she wipes up the blood and puts it on the injury, not even flinching.

"When will it stop bleeding?" She questions, fascinated, as the towel slowly turns pink.

"Hopefully before your mother gets home and reminds me I know nothing about child care." Nate mutters, finally pulling out a box and removing the towel to look at it. "And it doesn't hurt?" He asks, surprised and she shakes her head, shrugging her little shoulders.

"No." She says, as he applies the Band-Aid.

"Strong little girl." He says, kissing her forehead.

Gemma opens her eyes in the hospital room and takes a deep breath. She misses her father so much. He'd know the right words to say here, how to make her feel just a little bit better… But he's not here. She still needs to be his strong little girl, so she makes up her mind.

She won't talk. Not to Clay, not to Jax, not to anyone. Wayne and Tara know all that they need to know. This is her weight to carry. If she has one trait that stands above all others, it's her stubbornness. She won't give those men what they want, that much she knows.

These men aren't the idiotic 9-er's or the faux-swaggering Mayans. They are smart, they are vicious, and they are nothing like the club has ever seen before. Clay doesn't know enough and if she tells him, he'll charge in blind with rage. She can't let that happen.

She's scared and tired and hurt. She wants to break down. She wants to crawl into bed and cry. She wants to forget it all. But she can't, because she's not little Gemma anymore. She's queen Gemma, the woman who hurts and thrives with the club. She protects it no matter what.

She's protecting her boys. She won't send them into danger because they feel some stupid need to defend her honor. It's pointless and stupid and dangerous. She won't have it. So she sucks up her pain and forces it down. It's for another day, when it won't break the club.

Besides, this isn't the first time she's been hit. Or worse.

* * *

 _"They're all little boys who need a strong mommy."_

 **Chibs**

"Jesus Christ." Gemma swears, entering the motel room and kicking clothes aside. She stands in the doorway, looking around with clear distain. Chibs lifting his head from the bed with a grunt. "Get up." She orders.

"No." He mumbles, falling facedown.

"Hey." She says sharply, making her way through the room and picking through the filth on every surface. "Up and at um, Scottie."

"No!" Chibs yells into the blankets and Gemma is finally close enough to rip the covers off of the bed. She reels back is disgust when that exposes even more clothes and garbage.

"Alright, enough of this." She says, pinching the blankets and flinging them across the room. "Get up, let's go. And if you don't, I'll just call the club and make sure they come get you." She threatens. Grumbling, he does as she orders, walking into the sunlight and flinching.

Gemma takes a moment to assess him. He's shivering slightly at the brisk wind that's picking up and his SAMCRO kutte still looks strange on him. He doesn't look comfortable in it yet, like he's not use to the way it fits on him. His black hair is disheveled and ragged, like it hasn't seen a good trim in months. The bags under his blue eyes hang heavy and his cheek scars look more pronounced than ever on his pale face. Wordlessly, she hands him a smoke and walks towards her car. He grunts his thanks and slides into the passenger seat.

"Where ya takin' me?" He asks finally, as Gemma drives.

"Home." She says shortly and he looks at her with raised eyebrows. "Club's not there, they're busy trying to figure shit out with guns. You just look like you could use a home cooked meal for once." She says and he doesn't disagree. She pulls into the driveway.

"Thanks." He mutters, holding the door open for her.

"Shower's down that hall." She says, pointing it out. "I'll loan you some clothes so I can actually wash yours." She shoos him into the bathroom then begins in the kitchen. When he emerges, she gestures to the chair that sits on top of a large sheet in the middle of the room.

"Gonna kill me?" He asks, a tinge of his humor slipping back into his voice.

"Gonna kill some of that mane you got going." She says brandishing scissors and he smiles slightly, sitting. "I'm no stylist but the boys trust me." She says, combing and cutting.

"I don't mind." He says quietly. When she's finished and brushed him off, she sets a warm plate in front of him. She watches him eat before speaking.

"Why were you trying to drown yourself in alcohol and drugs, Chibs?" She questions quietly and he doesn't respond. "Cause I've seen men give up before like this. Why are you?"

"My daughter, Kerianne." He says finally, once he's completed cleared his plate. "She turned 9 yesterday. Her golden birthday. My little girl…" He breaks off, his voice constricting and he squeezes his eyes shut. Gemma reaches out and rubs his arm. She's well aware of the story of his stolen daughter. "I haven't seen her or her ma and now I'm here…"

"You're here." Gemma says forcefully, interrupting him. "And they're not. What can you do?" He raises his pained expression to hers. She looks deep in his eyes. "You have a heart of fire. I saw that, the first time I met you. I thought that is a man who loves so strongly, I doubt there's a force in the world that can stop it."

"Jimmy." He whispers and she shakes her head.

"You don't think that your little girl doesn't feel your love, all the way from here? She does. I know that wherever she is, she feels how much her father loves her, because of all he's done for her. So you keep fighting for that little girl, no matter how far you are." She demands and he nods slowly.

"I just…"

"I know." She says gently, kissing his cheek. "It'll be ok. Get up and get going. You got shit to do. I'll have the guys go get your bike from that god-awful motel. And next time you need to have a breakdown, do it in one of the dorm rooms. Hell of a lot easier to clean."

 **Juice**

"PROSPECT." Clay bellows and Gemma looks up at him with an astonished expression.

"You can't lift these damn boxes and just have it done it done in five minutes?" She asks, amazed.

"Why bother, when I got a prospect?" He points out, grinning, and Gemma rolls her eyes, throwing her hands up.

"Well, he better hurry up, or it'll be your ass I kick out of the club." She threatens and Clay makes a face at her.

"Prospect!" He yells again and a short Mexican skids around the corner. Gemma raises an eyebrow as he gasps to catch his breath.

"Is it just me, or are they getting younger?" She comments, sizing up the young man when he straightens up.

"Help my old lady load this shit in her caddy, got it? She's too pretty for this kinda stuff." Clay states, kissing Gemma's cheek.

"Oh, and like I'm not?" The prospect jokes and when Clay stares at him flatly, quickly sobers up. "Yes sir, I'll make sure she doesn't lift a finger."

"See you at home baby." Clay says, walking away and Gemma turns her attention to the boxes.

"Lift with your knees, not your back." She advises and he bobs his head, reaching for the first box. She slides her sunglasses down her face and picks up her book, flipping to her page, ignoring his grunting.

"All done ma'am." He says, sweating profusely as he shuts the trunk. She stands, nodding.

"Hop in." She orders and he stares at her blankly. "Someone's gotta unload them all and you said I wouldn't have to lift a finger." She mocks and he sighs but gets in. They ride in silence for most of the drive.

"So what is all that?" He asks finally.

"Taxes and paperwork." Gemma mutters, fiddling with the radio. "Gonna take it to a storage unit. Clutters up the office."

"Oh." He says thoughtfully and she looks at him over the top of her sunglasses for a long moment.

"What's your name?" She asks.

"Juan Carlos, but my grandma use to call me Juice, cause it was like I was always hopped up on something." He explains, smiling and she snorts.

"Smart woman." She mutters. "Why ya here Juice?"

"I like the way things work here." He says instantly. "Everyone watches out for each other. I don't really have a lot of family back home, but I always wanted a big family. I don't like being alone. And I like being around people. I want to be a part of something."

"Be a part of something." She repeats and he nods.

"You know, I want to be different. I want to belong. I think that this club is going to be the best thing that happened to me." He says and Gemma cracks a smile, looking at him.

"That makes two of us." She reveals and he grins at her. "I think you belong here too, Juice."

 **Tig**

Gemma flips through her recipe box, searching for the dog-eared piece of paper. She finally locates it and with satisfaction, plucks it from the box. She props it up on the wall and turns, pulling ingredients out of the fridge. She grabs a large pot and gets to work.

"Is that your mother's chicken noodle soup recipe I smell cooking?" Clay asks, walking and sniffing the air.

"Yes it is, but you only get one bowl." Gemma announces and he stares at her, crestfallen.

"Why?" He demands.

"The rest is going to Tig." She explains and he throws his hands up.

"He's got a little cold!" He protests.

"A little cold isn't puking nonstop and running a fever over 100 degrees for two days straight." Gemma scoffs and Clay sulks out of the kitchen. Gemma ladles up a large bowl for Clay then puts the rest in a large container and heads for Tig's house across town.

She arrives, gingerly stepping over old magazines and dirty clothes to make her way to the bathroom. She pokes her head around the corner, smiling when she sees Tig asleep on the floor. She nudges him with her toe.

"I don't wanna." He mutters, looking blearily up at her.

"I brought soup." She states and with a groan, he pushes himself off the floor. He pauses over the toilet for a moment then gets up.

"What kind?" He asks, massaging his throat and cringing.

"Chicken noodle." She says and he brightens considerably.

"That good stuff you made last Thanksgiving?" He asks hopefully and she nods, setting it on the table.

"Spoons?" She asks and he points to a drawer. She opens it, pulling out plastic utensils. She raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry." He says with a little shrug. She hands him a spoon and bowl and sits across from him, watching as he eats.

"How you feeling?" She asks and he pauses.

"Think I'm a little cooler. Soup's good. We'll see how I keep it down." He mutters and Gemma snorts, leaning across the table and resting the back of her hand on his forehead.

"Yeah, you don't feel so hot." She observes.

"You didn't have to do this." He says and she folds her arms, leaning back.

"Use to make it for Jax whenever he got sick. Only thing he'd eat. Clay loves it too. You men are such babies when you're sick." She says, shaking her head.

"Well, I am dying." He claims and she rolls her eyes. He finishes his bowl and gets up, grabbing a bottle from the cupboard.

"Whoa, no." Gemma says, scrambling to get up and grab it from him.

"What?" He asks innocently and she stares at him.

"This is why you're not getting any better!" She says, incredulous.

"But my stomach and head hurt so bad." He whines.

"Bed." She orders, pointing. "You need sleep, not vodka. Go." Protesting and complaining, he goes and allows her to shepherd him into bed and beneath the blankets.

"I'm not a child." He gripes weakly and she ignores him, placing a bucket near his head.

"Jesus Christ Tig, go to sleep." She says, patting his head and he closes his eyes, drifting off. She watches him sleep with a small smile, then goes to clean up the kitchen.

 **Bobby**

"Hey, another beer." Bobby says, tapping on the counter. The prospect nods, scrambling to pop the top off one. He sets it in front of Bobby and dashes away to respond to Tig's yelling. Bobby chuckles, reaching for his beer.

"Nope." Gemma says, swiping it and occupying the chair next to him.

"Wrong guy sweetheart. Clay's over there." He says, jerking his thumb and reaching for the beer.

"No, I've got the right guy." Gemma says confidently, handing the beer to a passing crow eater and Bobby watches it go mournfully.

"What was that for?" He whines.

"Because why the hell are you spending money on beer, Bobby?" Gemma demands and he rolls his eyes.

"Because I want to get drunk." He explains, as though it should be obvious and Gemma throws him a look so deadly he stops joking and sobers up.

"Your ex-wife just called." She informs him and he groans, reaching for a nearby bottle. Gemma moves it further away. "Tells me she hasn't been able to reach you for a couple months." She says flatly.

"I've been busy." Bobby grumbles and Gemma smacks his hand away when it creeps towards the bottle once more.

"She also said you haven't been sending the checks anymore." Gemma says and Bobby slumps. There's the point of the conversation.

"She doesn't need them." He says flatly. "She doesn't need me."

"Jesus Christ Bobby." Gemma swears. "You're throwing this pity party because Precious got married again? That's what this is about?"

"She's got a new man now! He can take care of my kid! Why should I care?" He bursts angrily and Gemma watches him.

"Because that's your son. Your flesh and blood." She says, poking him hard in the chest. He pushes her hand away.

"He doesn't give a shit about me now that he's got a brand new shiny stepdad." He protests and Gemma sighs, removing her rings and setting them on the counter. Bobby watches, confused.

"What are you…" He begins to ask, but Gemma slaps him across the face, making him gasp and hold his cheek.

"Goddamnit!" He yells and she's nonchalantly putting her rings back on. "What was that for?"

"Thought someone should, since Precious isn't here to do it." Gemma says tartly and Bobby opens him mouth to bellow but Gemma grabs his chin and yanks it down so he looks her in the eyes. "Send the checks. All of them. With interest. And a note for your kid." She hisses.

"Why?" He spits, pulling his chin out of her grasp.

"Because he needs you now more than ever. He needs to remember who his true father is. And you need to stop acting like a child and step up!" She says, smacking his head and walking away.

"Your wife's a bitch!" Bobby yells to Clay, who just raises a beer in salute. Flinching and rubbing his reddened check, Bobby goes off in search of a beer.

Monday morning, he slides a thick envelope onto Gemma's desk. She looks at it, then up at Bobby and they exchange nods. Gemma sets the envelope with the rest of the mail she'll send out today before return to her paperwork and Bobby heads back to the clubhouse.

* * *

 _Tig's woman_

She carefully brushes her long, blonde hair out in smooth strokes. She frowns at how it will so quickly be tangled. She loves riding on the back of the motorcycle; she just doesn't love what it does to her hair. She swipes on lipstick and some mascara, but doesn't both to really try. Alex is just taking her for a short ride, and then get something to eat.

Unconsciously, her hand moves across her stomach, still flat. She's mystified at the fact that there's something in there, that will grow and move and eventually be a part of the world someday. A little bit of her and a little bit of Alex. Smiling, she turns off the lights and heads to the bedroom.

"You ready to go?" She asks him and he shuts off the TV, rolling out of bed, pulling on his boots.

"You look nice." He says and she smiles, looking down.

"Thanks, it's this new thing I've been trying." She says mischievously and he raises an eyebrow before leading her out to the bike outside. She's not sure she wants to tell him. It's still early. She just found out herself a couple days ago, after she threw up her favorite Chinese food and had a moment of panic then a desperate desire to know.

When it had came back positive, she had thrown up again, this time probably from nerves. She was young. Her mother had thrown a fit when she had gotten on the back of a Harley and refused to come back. She doesn't have a dad, a family, anyone. She has Alex and his curly black hair and his beloved motorcycle. That can't raise a baby.

But over the last couple days, the idea of a baby has grown on her. Maybe it'll be a little boy with the bright blue eyes and dark hair of his father. Maybe it'll be a little girl with her smile and thick eyelashes. Either way, the more she imagines her holding a tiny child or Alex playing with a toddler, a warm spot fills her heart and she clings to it.

"It's a nice day for a ride." Alex observes, turning his face up to the sun and she mirrors him, smiling.

"It's a nice day." She agrees, her tone teasing.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" He asks curiously and she climbs on the back of the bike without answering. "You're maddening, woman." He says and she kisses beneath his ear. He starts the bike, grinning, and they take off.

She doesn't wanna tell him yet. She still wants to hold this secret close and let it be hers for a while. She'll tell him when the time is right. He's in such a good mood now though and as he winds out of the city and towards the city, she weighs whether it's now or later. She removes a hand from his waist and rests it on her stomach, burying her face in his shoulder to hide her grin.

She can't keep it in anymore. He needs to know. She wants to tell him about it, wants him to suggest baby names and wonder over who's nose it'll get. She wants him to talk to her stomach and kiss it. She wants to see him be a father and see herself be a mother.

He pulls onto the highway, speeding up. She curls her fingers tightly into his shirt, her heart expanding as the road stretches out in front of them. This is why she left. This feeling, this freedom and happiness. Her mother had thought she was crazy and so did everyone else, but it can't be explained to anyone else. Unless they get on a bike and just ride off into the sunset, they won't ever understand it. She digs her nails into Alex's sides and he twists to look at her.

The world speeds up in that moment and she's not sure how. One moment, Alex's blue eyes are looking back at her quizzically. The next, she sees the car in front of them facing the wrong way and she tries to yell a warning, but she's already moving forward.

She doesn't feel Alex lay the bike down. She's not aware of anything at all. The one thing she can comprehend is her body floating through the air, too fast and too slow at the same time. She knows that this is bad, but she doesn't feel the pain yet. She wraps her arms around her stomach in one last, futile attempt and then the screaming world is black.

 **AN:** Whoo, Gemma-centric. I've got a couple requests to do her, her and Clay, etc, but I just love her relationship to all the men of the club and I can't resist exploring it. Plus Tig, pre-hookers! An early update, as I'll be traveling this weekend, hoping to get some major writing down in the 12 hour ride... Tell me more of what you'd like me to explore, and if you want more Jax/Tara, A Prayer for SAMCRO might be everything you're looking for...


	16. Season 2- Fix

Episode 3: Fix

 _Jax and Tara memories on the bike "Homework?"_

She idly flips through the book assigned for reading, not sure if she wants to begin this or her history work when she hears the deep rumble growing louder. She waits till it reaches its peak then abruptly ends before scrambling off her bed and to the living room window.

Jax sits on his bike, grinning at her, holding up a helmet. She smiles and shakes her head, holding up her book. He rolls his eyes, beckoning for her to come outside. She shakes her head again, biting her lip to hold back a full-blown grin. He pats the seat behind him and she relents, holding up one finger. She dashes to get her jacket, braiding her hair back as she goes.

"Hey darlin'." He drawls and she rolls her eyes, swinging her legs over the seat and squeezing his waist.

"I have homework." She states and he smirks.

"Me too." He says sarcastically and she smacks him, smiling as he speeds out of town. He follows a familiar path, to the open, grassy field. The first place he ever told her that he loved her, wanted to spend forever with her, and gave her the ring she now wears.

She turns her face up to the warm sun, the wind making the baby hairs that can't fit into her braid go crazy on her forehead. She's blissfully happy, so familiar with this moment. Jax smells like gas and oil, his long blonde hair curling ever so slightly at the ends, one large hand briefly resting on her knee as he carefully winds around a corner.

"You're the worst driver!" She protests when he accelerates fast out of the curve and he laughs, revving the engine with disregard to her. "Jax!"

"You worry!" He yells over the sound of the engine.

"Yeah till you tip us!" She yells back and they both burst into laughter at the idea of that. If there's one thing that comes naturally to Jax Teller, it's driving a Harley. He parks the bike and helps her off, throwing a blanket down.

"Come here." Jax says, pulling her down and she rests her head on his chest. He kisses her forehead.

"It's so nice out today." She mutters, cuddling up next to him and shutting her eyes, content.

"I thought you'd wanna get away from homework for awhile." He says and she smiles, holding up her book. "Jesus Tara." He swears and she can hear the good-natured eye roll in his voice.

"I have to read all of it by next Monday." She says and he takes the book from her, inspecting it.

"To Kill a Mockingbird. I loved this." He reveals and she raises an eyebrow. "I think it's an amazing narrative of how the world changes as you get older through the lens of a young narrator, which is something we don't see often." He muses and she stares at him. "What?"

"Sometimes you say things and I don't think you realize how odd it is to hear those words out of that mouth." She points out.

"I do have a GED." He reminds her, affronted. She pats his cheek, smiling then opens her book. Jax rests his head on her shoulder, reading. He clucks impatiently when he finishes a page before she does.

"Quit!" She protests finally, laughing.

"What?" He asks, smiling innocently.

"Don't act like you're not being the most annoying person ever." She accuses and he just smiles, blowing her a kiss.

"Anything to make you pay attention to me." He says mischievously and she shoves him away.

(-)

She sets aside one medical journal and picks up another, sighing. It's her day off and she's still at the hospital, so to speak. She opens to the marked page and scans the pages quickly, wondering how long it'll take her to read it this one. She settles into her bed. She's not even a paragraph in when the low thunder reaches her ears. She smiles, sitting up. When the noise ends, she gets up and walks to the big living room window.

Jax grins, leaning forward on his handlebars. He raises an eyebrow and she lifts up the medical journal, shaking her head. He rolls his eyes, pointing to her then his bike. She laughs, pointing to the journal. He juts out his lower lip and pouts until she laughs and tosses the journal aside.

"There's my girl." He says, kissing her as she slides onto the bike.

"I had things to do." She informs him.

"Stop, c'mon. Mom's at work, so is the club, and Rita has the baby. We have an afternoon to ourselves, let's take it." He pleads and she relents, clasping her hands around his stomach. It's easy to guess where they're going. The route that takes them out of Charming and into the countryside.

She's never quite forgotten this feeling, of his bike. This time around it's different though. She holds a little tighter. Appreciates how Jax holds them steady on the bike. Buries her head in his shoulder and remembers when they were young and innocent and this was their escape.

She laughs when Jax gently tips the bike each way, digging her nails into his soft shirt beneath his kutte. The butterflies in her stomach are the good kind, the happy kind. She hardly remembers the anger and resentment that use to bubble up at these memories.

"Jax!" She says, holding tightly.

"Alright?" He asks, grinning devilishly and she grins, tightening her grip as he speeds along the dirt road. When they arrive in the field, he tosses her a blanket to put down and she does. He produces a notebook and a pen, thoughtfully scratching on the paper. She knows better than to ask him. She lays down and pulls out her own book.

As she reads, she looks up at him. He's thoughtfully writing in his notebook, blond hair curled behind one ear and blues eyes intently focused. He's grown up so much and so little at the same time. He's still her Jax or at least she hopes he is. He looks up and meets her eye, smiling. He sets the notebook aside and comes to join her on the blanket.

* * *

 _"To protect Clay!"_

"So, why don't you ask your pretty little friend to come over here and we can all go home?" Tig purrs in the redhead's ear and she laughs, covering her mouth. "C'mon baby…"

"Tiggy, we got a problem." Bobby calls and Tig straightens up, looking at him furiously.

"I am in the middle of something." He says sharply and Bobby points behind him. Tig turns and swears loudly. Gemma is stalking across the parking lot, a whiskey bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"Where the fuck is Clay?" Gemma demands of another woman, who puts her hands up, denying that she knows anything. Gemma makes a noise of disgust, pushing past her and continuing her search.

"Shit." Tig says, scrambling up. "Don't leave. Stay here. Find your friend and wait for me." He orders the woman, who looks startled. Then he chases after Gemma, intercepting her before she can approach Clay.

"Out of my way, Tiggy." She says, her drunken, unfocused eyes blazing. Tig dodges the cigarette, hands on her shoulders, trying to hold her back.

"Ok, ok, ok, but why do you wanna talk to Clay?" Tig asks, trying to sound soothing and she frowns at him.

"Cause he's an ass." She says flatly. "And I'm gonna knock his ass down."

"What did he do?" Tig asks, exasperated.

"He fucked that slut Mindy!" She explodes in anger. "One minute he asks me to be his goddamn wife and the next, she's strutting all over the goddamn club, bragging about the good pussy she gave him!"

"Then by all means, knock him down." Tig says, stepping aside and letting her pass. He stands back, watching as she screams at Clay and he screams back. Finally, Gemma gives his a great shove and he tumbles down the slight slope, landing in a heap at the bottom. Tig walks down the hill, whistling.

"What the fuck?" Clay demands, sitting up and brushing dust off himself. Tig extends a hand and pulls him to his feet. "When I started dating that bitch, I told you to run protection detail!"

"That's why you hit the hookers." Tig advises wisely. "So they don't tell your old lady." He shakes his head.

"Well sorry I just wanted some casual sex." He snaps and Tig puts his hands up in surrender.

"I'm just saying she had a good reason." He admits and Clay groans, walking back up the hill towards the party.

(-)

"Um, Tig?" A crow eater says timidly, sticking her head around the corner and averting her gaze. Tig lifts his head up off another crow eater's chest, groaning loudly.

"What?" He demands.

"Clay wants you." She tells him, still looking away.

"Don't move." He orders the woman on the bed, who rolls over and promptly vomits over the side of the bed. "Excellent." He mutters, swinging his kutte on and slamming the door shut.

"Sorry." The crow eater whispers and he shakes his head, gesturing for her to lead him. She guides him through the clubhouse to outside, where Clay is backed up against the wall by a screaming Gemma, who's brandishing a small pocketknife, likely the source of Clay's wariness.

"Do something!" Clay yells and Gemma turns, glaring at Tig.

"Don't come any closer." She warns and Clay throws his hands up, as if she's proving his point.

"Well, first off, don't stab your husband." Tig says tiredly.

"I might." Gemma threatens.

"What'd he do?" Tig asks, rubbing his face like it'll clear the alcoholic haze. Gemma spits.

"Everything." She sneers and Tig sighs.

"That doesn't tell me anything." He points out.

"I was just introducing myself to the new girl!" Clay insists.

"Yeah, introducing yourself and your dick, just like you always do!" Gemma scoffs and Tig feels a deep desire to leave and go back to the bedroom. Clay's still in danger however, so he stays.

"Gemma, can we just calm down?" He pleads.

"No, she won't, because she's a crazy bitch!" Clay bellows and Tig looks at him, incredulous.

"And you're not helping." He says shortly. "Now can you two just get over it and fuck and make up like you always do? I've got a nauseous blonde that I wanna get back to." He states.

"No, because how do you expect me to be married to a man that'll fuck anything within arm's reach?" She demands.

"Because you know he only loves you." Tig reminds her and when her arm drops slightly, he lunges forward in one easy movement and grabs the knife, snapping it shut and putting it in his back pocket.

"Fuck. Make up. It's easier on the kids." He tells them and then heads back inside, tossing the pocketknife to Chibs, who looks at it in surprise. He slams the bedroom door shut and this time makes sure to lock it.

* * *

 _"Charming treats the sons like heroes."_

John Teller walks through the school carnival, smiling and talking to other parents. He cradles a young boy to his chest, the baby is fast asleep. A young boy hangs off his hand, pulling him along with desperation.

"Jackson, calm down." He says, laughing.

"But dad, what if we don't find Opie before its time to go?" He whines and John rolls his eyes.

"If we can't find Opie, I'll let you stay extra long." He promises and Jax lights up in delight. It's for nothing however; three minutes later they find Mary, who promptly hands off Opie and disappears.

"Can we please go by ourselves?" Jax pleads. "We promise to be good, we promise dad!"

"Yeah," Opie chimes in. "We'll be good."

"Fine." John says, laughing. "Go, but I've got eyes everywhere, I'll be watching." He warns and whooping, the boys run off.

"You really think they're gonna behave?" A woman next to him asks and he turns to her, smiling, hoisting his infant son a little higher.

"Unlikely, but they're both very scared of my wife and she'll be here soon." He tells her and she smiles.

"He's very quiet." She says, gesturing to the baby and John nods.

"He's a calm soul, which is nice, after Jax." He says, watching affectionately as Jax runs across the open, grassy area, headed for a game.

"He seems like a good kid though." She assures him.

"They both are." John says, kissing Thomas's head when he shifts.

"But mom!" A little girl's voice catches his attention. She's dug her heels into the dirt, refusing to cooperate with her desperate mother. "Please!"

"No." The mother says shortly. "Now c'mon, we're going home."

"I just want one bag of cotton candy, please please please please please!" She begs and the mother drops to her knees.

"I don't have the money, ok?" She says lowly. "We don't have any more money for food or games, so can we please go home?"

"Hey." John says quietly, approaching the two. He reaches in his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. He kneels, handing the little girl money. "Get lots of cotton candy." He says and she accepts the money with wide eyes.

"No, I can't possibly take this." The mother says, eyes averted and John smiles, moving so he's cradling Thomas in his arms.

"Please do, and forgive me when she's bundle of energy before bed tonight." He says jokingly and she raises her face to his. He smiles and pats the little girls head before nodding.

"Thank you." The woman says softly, her eyes filling with tears. He bows his head slightly and walks away.

"That was nice of ya John." Unser says, leaning against a stand and watching the little girl bouncing excitedly in line for cotton candy.

"Hey Wayne." John says, pausing and glancing back. "Yeah, I just hate seeing that kind of stuff. The only reason a parent should say no is if they don't want their kid to have something, not because they don't have the money." He ponders, looking down at Thomas.

"Gemma's waiting for you." He informs him. "Sounds like she's a little, uh, peeved that you let Jax wander off."

"She's overprotective." John says dismissively. "But I better get going. See you." He says, as Unser chuckles and waves.

As he crosses the carnival in search of his wife, he smiles and dodges the kids running underfoot, some who stop and look up at him in awe. He always gives them a kind word and continues on. He nods to other parents and adults, stopping to talk to a couple men.

No one watches him warily. No one is scared of him. In fact, they watch him adoringly, happily, gladly. One man stops and thanks him for helping out his business with debt problems. Another woman quietly informs him that her landlord is no longer giving her problems. When one parent tells another about growing gang and drug violence in neighboring cities, they cluck and discuss how glad they are Charming doesn't have that problem. Then their gazes find John Teller and his Sons of Anarchy kutte.

On John's part, he seems oblivious to the attention he receives. He's just meandering his way through the crowd, talking to people and keeping a keen eye out for Gemma. He can hardly get a couple feet before someone else will stop him and want to chat about something.

"Hey baby." Gemma says, once he leaves off a conversation with a well-known businessman.

"Hi darling." He says, kissing her and passing Thomas off to her. "Seen Jax lately?" He asks.

"Yes, no thanks to you." Gemma says, rolling her eyes. "He's not a teenager John, we shouldn't just let him run free." She warns.

"Please, like everyone here doesn't keep an eye out for him." John scoffs. As if on cue, a woman appears with Jax and Opie.

"These two were attempting to steal extra goldfish." She informs Gemma and John, both who stare at Jax with a mixture of confusion and exasperation.

"We were gonna put them in a pond and see if they grew really big." Jax explains and Gemma sighs while John laughs.

"I blame you." She says, pointing to him and John waves a hand.

"Go play. Don't steal fish." He orders and both boys dart away. "C'mon." He says, slinging an arm around Gemma and guiding her around, smiling at the people of Charming.

* * *

 _"My cat-fighting days are behind me."_

Ima didn't go to high school in Charming. She had moved here when Luann had recruited her and though it was no L.A., she got along well enough. The club was a bonus and Jax Teller was the cherry on top. So when this Tara shows up, Ima rolls her eyes and refuses to worry about. She would bet anything that she could take this Tara chick in a fight.

She'd be wrong.

"Tara…" Opie says, intercepting her before she can walk into the house party. "Don't go in there."

"Why?" She asks tartly, looking up at him. "I'm not gonna do anything."

"You're here cause you and Jax had a fight and now you're gonna cause trouble if he's flirting with another girl." Donna says and Tara rolls her eyes.

"Just because you two have the perfect relationship doesn't mean you can lecture anyone you think doesn't." She retorts. "Now let me inside the damn house Opie Winston."

"No." He says, blocking the door with his large frame. Tara looks at him thoughtfully for a moment then raises her cup full of beer and dumps it over his head. He gasps in disgust and she walks past him.

"Sorry!" She calls over her shoulder, clearly not.

"See if she gets backup." Opie mutters while Donna laughs and tries to help him clean up. Tara strides through the living room with purpose, head on a swivel for Jax.

"Jax." She says loudly when she finds him sitting on the couch, arms around blonde girls and a half empty bottle of vodka nearby. He looks up at her and something like surprise crosses his slack face.

"Tara?" He slurs.

"C'mon, we're leaving." She orders, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him up. "Let's go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." One blonde says, standing and looking at Tara with clear disgust. "Who the hell are you?"

"His girlfriend." Tara sneers. "So he's leaving."

"No he's not." The blonde insists, trying to tug Jax back onto the couch. "He wants to be here."

"He's wasted." Tara states flatly. "He doesn't know shit and I'm taking him home, so let him go."

"No. You're the bitch he was fighting with. He doesn't want any part of you. He'd rather be here with us." She says smugly and Tara gives up pulling Jax, looking at the girl in disbelief. "So run along, bitch." She says, shooing her and Tara snaps, shoving Jax aside and lunging at the girl.

When Opie and Donna finally shove their way through the cheering crowd, Tara has the blonde of the floor in a messy headlock. The girl's nose is bleeding and her hair is messy, like it's been yanked. Tara herself has scratches and a bruise, but she's clearing winning.

Opie heaves Tara off the girl and over his shoulder, carrying her, screaming, outside. Donna rounds up Jax, using a combination of sweetness and force to convince him to follow her. Opie has deposited Tara at a picnic table and is examining her wounds while she sulks.

"You gotta quit doing that Tara." Donna advises, calmly sidestepping Jax's vomit. "Seriously."

"It's not my fault!" She protests.

"Well, at least learn to dodge a punch." Opie mutters and Tara scowls.

"Does Jax think it's sexy that you'll fight any girl that even looks at him?" Donna wants to know and Tara resumes her grumbling.

"Alright, none of this is serious enough to need a visit to the ER. Get in the car." Opie commands and it's a sign that Tara's in a bad enough mood that she complies. At Opie's house, all four shower. Opie and Donna retreat to bed, while Tara and Jax are left to sleep on the couches.

The next Monday at school, the blonde girl is sporting a broken nose, black eye, and missing chunks of hair. Tara has a bruised cheekbone and half healed scratches, but Jax Teller's arm is also slung over her shoulders and he kisses the bruise tenderly, making her smack his chest. Their fight is over, solved by Tara's fight and a morning spent tending injuries.

Ima doesn't know that in high school, Tara was known for her cat-fighting. She threw a mean right hook and had no qualms about fighting dirty. Ima only sees the reserved woman that spent ten years at med school and away from Charming, trying to forget how her knuckles felt bruised the morning after and how Jax would kiss her hands, laughing. Ima is sure that she's tougher than Tara, prettier than Tara, and smarter than Tara.

She is wrong, and devastation courses through her as she stands in the bathroom doorway. Tara's knowing smile as Jax slams her against the wall and her victorious, smug smile are more effective than a hundred punches. Jax Teller belongs to Tara Knowles and she's not afraid to fight for him.

 **AN:** A lot of teenage Jax/Tara (guess my head is in my other story) and a little Clay/Gemma through the eyes of their kid, Tiggy. Please, please, please let me know what you think in a review, I love reading them.


	17. Season 2- Eureka

Episode 4: Eureka

 _"I'm your old lady." Jax's thoughts on Tara as a mother_

The charity ride can wait. The club won't be mad if he's a little late. He's anticipating a little early morning fun with his beautiful girlfriend, drawing her close and dipping his head to kiss her but Abel's cry splits the air, making him chuckle and pull away, while Tara looks just as disappointed.

"My boy, the master of timing." He comments, letting his humor and just a tinge of regret steep into his tone. Tara smiles and goes to leave, headed for Abel, just like she always does. Jax catches her hand and she looks at him with her eyebrows raised quizzically.

Jax is overwhelmed with a sense of pride looking at her. Abel isn't her son, and by no means is she obligated to love him. But she does, wholeheartedly and better than Jax could ever ask for.

"I love you." He tells her, staring down at her, totally consumed with happiness at the sight of her big brown eyes, lush hair, and creamy white skin.

"I love you too." She says, not quite sure what's gotten into him but enjoying it all the same.

"I got him." He says, heading for Abel. He looks around the doorway and can't help but smile. Abel is on his back, kicking his feet and using his incredibly capable lungs to protest his being left alone while awake.

It's still an odd sight for Jax to see, his son, pink faced and chubby, waving his fists in anger. He leans over the crib, smiling down at him, touching his cheek. Abel settles down from a yell to a couple whimpers and Jax reaches into the crib, picking him up and cradling him to his chest.

Abel quiets instantly as Jax rocks back and forth, practically dancing over to the dresser to retrieve Abel's little SOA hat. He hums as he goes. It's a habit he's picking up from Tara, who does it so absentmindedly when she holds Abel, makes his bottle, and puts him to sleep.

He is again beyond grateful for her. It washes over him, how lucky he is to have her. Without the beautiful woman, he wonders if his son would be healthy, happy, and developing like he is.

Tara makes him a better father and more importantly, a better man. He looks down at Abel, who lets him tug his hat on with wide eyes. Jax kisses his nose and walks back for the bedroom.

Tara watches as Jax heads for Abel's room, his shoulders relaxed and a happy jaunt in his step. She looks around the bedroom, her gaze settling on the kutte lying on the bed. She sits on the bed uneasily.

The dread in her stomach never quite disappears at the sight of the Reaper. Some women, like Gemma, find comfort and protection in it, but Tara just feels anxiety and worry. If one night Jax doesn't come home, it'll be because of the Reaper on his back.

As if to confirm her fear, when she looks away from the kutte, the first thing she sees is the gun. It's blocky, black, and so casually strewn about with other items of their life- Abel's bottle, the phone, and the gun. It's the hallmark of Jax's life. No matter how normal it appears, the outlaw is never out of sight.

Unconsciously, her hand moves to touch the kutte. The well-worn leather, to the point of being soft, and the stiff stitching that's fading slightly. Part of her understands why the women love this so much. It's the way of life of the men they love, and their way of life by extension. Realization washes over her.

She's an old lady. Not just any old lady, but Jax's. It was a title she had adamantly rejected in high school, when Donna and Opie had jokingly placed the mantle on her. She didn't want to be an old lady. She hated what it represented. She thought the men controlled the women, dominated them, and that it was awful. But it's not anything like that.

They have just as much respect and love. They are cherished and beloved, even stronger than their men. Jax shares everything with her, leans on her, requests her advice and input. He adores her as a mother and as a woman. It's like high school but better. She won't deny the title of old lady if someone suggested it, and more so she's honored to have it. Jax walks in, bounces Abel as he coos and reaches for her. Tara looks at Jax in disbelief as he smiles.

"What?" He asks, curious about the odd expression that sits on her face. She blinks, drawn out of her musings.

"I'm your old lady." She states, rather than questions. It's a fact by now, not a opinion. Jax grins and laughs, but doesn't say anything. Instead he blows her a kiss, heading for the kitchen to feed Abel.

"C'mon, let's get you some breakfast." He says cheerfully and Tara watches him go, stunned but happy.

Of course she's his old lady. That's all he's ever wanted her to be.

* * *

 _How other clubs see SOA_

There's a legend in some clubs, about how the term '1%er's' came about. Some claim that it's because only 1% of civilians are able to handle this life. Other attribute it to the infamous 1947 fight and AMA's declaration that only "1% of motorcycle clubs are outlaws."

Regardless of where it came from, the moniker comes with notoriety and prestige all of it's own. It also opens a door for trouble- if other clubs sense that someone is faking, they are ruthless in exposing them.

There is a certain level of respect among the true 1%er's, the ones who don't flaunt the title but rather quietly carry it with them. The Sons earned that respect years ago, at a rally.

There was alcohol, there was women, there was drinking, and then there was fighting. Sons were fearless, diving into the fray with maniacal glee, eager to throw and receive punches. Eventually, where the punches weren't enough, guns were drawn. That revealed their dealings and that revealed their status as the outlaw bikers.

That wasn't the first incident. There was a string, usually at rallies but sometimes at bars. It was common to return to the clubhouse on Monday's to catalog bruises and sometimes worse injuries, laughing with each other. It grew brotherhood, and it grew their reputation.

Alliances came and went. Clubs only get along as long as the leaders get along, and though John Teller had a calm head, he wasn't always known for keeping it. Soon the SOA had friends and enemies, same as everyone else.

One thing they have always had, however, is respect. The club grew, spreading it's roots out from Charming to Nevada, Oregon, Washington, Arizona, New Mexico, and further. More charters meant more men to join into the fights and more men to run their own criminal operations.

They stayed away from drugs. That had been the rule of John and over time it became the unspoken rule that they all kept. They were never the size of Hell's Angels but they didn't draw the negative attention on such large scale either. They had charters, respect, and that was enough.

There comes a stereotype with these kinds of clubs that toughness is all that matters and all that will ever matter. Any sign of weakness might be pounced upon. But it isn't. That's why charity runs are so important. They are a moment for the club to keep its public image, but to also conceal why they earn that 1%er respect from so many.

They run toys, often right next to guns. They hand out coats and mittens to underprivileged kids then sell guns to the men that run their neighborhood. It's a cycle that they're aware of and disregard.

So when the Sons of Anarchy arrive to rallies, motorcycle shows, or charity drives, there are a lot of handshakes and greetings. Jokes are exchanged, along with quiet, muttered remarks about certain deals.

They command a degree of fear now. They are 1%er's and any club that encounters them knows it. The SOA sits right up there with the big clubs.

* * *

 _"The town chooses its occupants."_

Charming isn't a big town. It's not a small one either. There are plenty of well-known people. Gemma Teller-Morrow can't walk into the grocery store without five people greeting her. The Hale brothers are loved or hated, depending on the person. And then there are people like Trisha and Paul Anderson.

They met in their early 20's, when a friend of Paul accidently spilled lemonade all over Trisha at a summer softball pickup game. Paul had apologized profusely for his drunk friend, then offered her a shower and fresh clothes at his nearby apartment, which she'd taken him up on.

They'd been inseparable ever since. By the next summer Trisha had a ring and a large belly, the summer after that, a joyful little boy in her arms. Their son, William, was the light and joy of their lives.

They lived in Los Angeles till he was 13. He was raised with all the love and adoration a child could ask for, but it wasn't enough. Paul was an electrician and Trisha a secretary. There were long nights not at home and no private schools for William, but they thought everything would work out for the best. Good people led good lives and deserved happiness, that's why they thought.

At 12, William disappeared. Physically, he was still there, but he withdrew and hardly spoke. Then his friends changed, going from good kids to boys that he couldn't let his parents meet. He disappeared at night, changed his clothes, and shut them out.

Drugs were next. He was so young; they never thought he would do anything like that. He did and for all their pleading, crying, and anger, William stubbornly resisted all help. It took strong arming him into a rehab facility they couldn't afford to get him off the streets. Once he got out, Trisha couldn't watch her son in the same house that they caught him smoking, drinking, and doing drugs in. She ordered they pack up and go somewhere safe.

Charming wasn't her first choice and they only stumbled upon it by accident. They loved that it was small; they found jobs and a house. William would be safe and they could watch over him carefully, until he earned back their trust. They moved in a little house and went to introduce themselves to their neighbors.

Gemma was terrifying, but oddly likeable in her own way. She could be counted on to let Trisha borrow butter or sour cream, exchange pleasantries at the mailbox, or talk which flowers were blooming well and which couldn't handle the hot Californian summers.

Clay was distinctly more frightening, but he came to backyard barbeques and street parties, laughing and drinking a beer in his kutte. He mowed the lawn, asked to borrow tools, and moaned about honey-do lists. Paul liked him, even if he was scared of him.

However, the best was Jax. A couple years older than William, the first time he came over, he laughed and bonded with William over teenager boy TV shows and fast cars. William blended in better in Charming. His friends were nice, kind, and good, in terms of teenager boys.

Jax kept an eye out for William and once Trisha let slip to Gemma the real reason for the move, the club did too. One night, when William had missed his curfew hanging with buddies at the skate park, an escort of bikes brought him home. They were safe in Charming.

Not everyone saw it like them. At parents meetings at the schools, there was always a low mummer about the motorcycle club, nasty gossip and protests against them. Trisha quickly found herself an advocate for the club. They were good people, good friends, and they made Charming a good place.

People came and left. They would complain about the rumble of the bikes down the main roads and into neighborhoods, wanting less noise, fewer parties held at the clubhouse, and for them and their rowdy behavior to be banned from the local bars. Nothing would be done, of course. The police, namely Unser, would never bow to those whims.

Besides, the good outweighs the bad. Since his arrival in Charming, William hadn't touched drugs, mainly because the club worked so hard to keep drugs out. The day William goes off to college, they pack him up, alternately groaning and complaining how much stuff he has and crying that their little boy is leaving. Gemma and Clay help load the back of the truck, wishing William well and taking Trisha's mind off the fact her son is leaving.

Afterwards, she makes her a cocktail and invites them to supper, keeping them busy. Gemma reassures her that William is a smart boy and not that teenager they dragged from Los Angeles all those years ago. Even with William gone, they stay in Charming, enjoying the small town atmosphere and the quiet calm that they've become accustomed to.

Even with the motorcycles roaring down the street.

* * *

 _Jax and Piney's relationship_

Piney watches Jax heavily. The young man is seated on a picnic table, laughing with a beer in one hand and a hotdog in the other. It's an Indian summer in California, the last warm days before fall will be upon them. Fall means November and that means the anniversary of John's death.

It still weighs on Piney, the loss of his best friend. He's felt lost most days and looking at Jax, he knows he's not the only one feeling that way. Not even Opie's return has put a dent in Jax's sadness, however well masked it is.

With a heavy sigh, he gets up and makes his way to Jax. He's still engrossed in telling a story, that he doesn't even notice Piney. Crow eaters, sitting around him, hang on his every word.

"Oh hey old man." Jax says cheerfully, finishing up his story and glancing down at Piney, who grunts. Slowly, with the sense that they're no longer wanted, the women get up and walk away.

"Jax." Piney says, nodding and Jax slides down so he's on his level. "Wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" Jax asks unassumingly, taking a bite of his hotdog and washing it down with beer.

"You." Piney says flatly and Jax raises his eyebrows, still unconcerned. "How are you doing, Jackson?"

"Good." He says casually, polishing off his hotdog and Piney narrows his eyes. "Thinking about taking my GED soon?" He suggests, unsure of what Piney is looking for.

"Opie says you have a girl." He grunts and Jax goes slightly red.

"Yeah." He mutters, masking his smile with another drink of beer. "Tara Knowles, she's good."

"Good, huh?" Piney questions, watching as Gemma runs her hand down Clay's arm. He notices Jax is watching too, with a blank expression.

"Yeah." Jax says suddenly, drawn from his thoughts. "She's good, real good. I uh, I really like her."

"How you feeling about that?" Piney asks suddenly, jerking his chin towards Gemma and Clay.

"Uh," Jax stutters then shrugs. "Um, it's nothing. I'm not worried about it, it's, you know, her, she is, uh, she's my mom, and, um, yeah." He finishes lamely, avoiding look at Gemma and Clay.

"You're as bad a liar as your father." Piney informs him, making Jax's head jerk up and look at him. "He could never lie for shit when it came to Gemma, neither can you."

"It doesn't bother me." Jax states, a bit more forcefully than he had intended. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. "She's happy, I'm happy."

"Are you happy, Jax?" Piney asks pointedly and Jax briefly drops the mask, his face collapsing into that of a lost, sad child.

"Yes." He says quietly and Piney knows he doesn't mean it. He waits in silence until Jax spills more. "Why him? Why him? She used to love my dad and now Clay, I don't understand why." He confesses and Piney pats his knee.

"Your mother, she's a different woman and this is how she copes. You're not coping Jax, you're ignoring." Piney tells him.

"If you knew Tara, you'd know how much you sound like her." Jax says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Listen to her, she seems like a smart girl." Piney advises and Jax grins. "I promised your dad that I would always watch over you if anything happened to him and he promised to do the same for Opie. I just wanna know you're right with all of this happening."

"I'm going to join the club, if that's what you're asking." Jax interrupts him and Piney sighs.

"It's not about the club Jax, it's about you." He says, patience slipping somewhat. "Your damn mind, your self, you. I wanna make sure you're right. In here." He jabs Jax's chest on the left side.

"Old man, I'm fine." He says, mask firmly in place once more.

"Bullshit." Piney mutters, folding his arms and turning away from Jax. "My best friend laid his bike down and is gone, if I'm not fine neither are you. At least you shouldn't be."

"It's not like he'd been acting like a father long before that crash." Jax comments, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.

"He lost his son." Piney says and Jax makes a noise of anger.

"He still had one." He reminds him hotly. "I lost a brother and I didn't just check out of my family."

"We grieve differently." Piney says and Jax snorts.

"And he grieved all the way to that highway." He says and Piney twists. "Sorry." Jax mutters, backing down instantly at the disgust on Piney's face. "This is why I don't talk about it."

"Fine, don't. Let it twist you up inside until you forget that your father has made you who you are today, whether you like it or not." He declares, standing and looking around for a beer. Jax is quiet, sitting on the table. Piney begins to walk towards the keg.

"Old man." Jax calls, a note of defeat. Piney turns and looks over his shoulder. "I talk to Tara about it." He discloses. "She gets it, with her mom dying and everything. I tell her."

"Good." Piney says, nodding, turning and walking away.

"Wait." Jax says again and Piney turns, eyebrows raised.

"Thanks… For watching out for me. Like my dad would've." Jax says and Piney just nods.

"That's what I promised him." He says lowly, then heads for a large beer.

 **AN:** So these aren't super generic chapters, but I oddly love them all the same and I hope you do too. Let me know what you think in a review, pretty please? Cause the ones I've gotten so far are awesome and I so, so appreciate them!


	18. Season 2- Smite

Episode 5: Smite

 _Lyla's story/addiction_

She was always a small baby. She was a month premature, born in the hot months of summer. Nothing fit her, so she was usually in nothing more than a diaper. Her father would later comment that her hatred of clothing stemmed from this period as a child. She never got use to the feeling of cloth on her skin.

Her parents were poor. There was no way around it. She had numerous brothers and sisters and cousins that crowded into a small house, taking up space. She wanted out, she wanted to be free. School provided some relief, but not enough. She wanted to go further.

She was 11 when it started. The stares of men. Her mother began scolding her for not wearing enough clothes, that her shorts were too short and her tank top too tight. Lyla was mystified at this. Why should it matter what she wore? Why would anyone care? It didn't make sense to her, why men turned and stared as she walked by.

Once she turned 15, she understood. The boys at school grabbed her ass, smacked it, and held her wrists when she tried to pull away. Her boobs arrived in full force and soon they became the focus of the boys, trying to shove their faces towards them, miming kissing and fondling them.

She tried to get fat. It didn't work. She tried baggy clothes. That didn't work either. The only thing that did was the clear liquid in her father's drawer that burned on the way down but made her forget everything. The names they called her, the dirty looks the girls would throw her way, the barely disguised hunger in any man that looked at her. She hated her body.

It was ironic then, when, during her senior year, a man approached her as she worked at the ice cream shop and invited her to L.A. to model. He said she was gorgeous, thin, and exactly what places like Victoria's Secret was looking for. He promised good pay and an escape from the ridicule of her town. She couldn't pack fast enough and left without a backwards look.

It started out as modeling, but not for Victoria's Secret. It was other underwear places, skimpier, flimsier fabric. Still, she had a tiny apartment with 3 other girls and a paycheck that covered rent and not much else. She took her inability to buy groceries as a good thing- it kept her thin.

She was happier than she was at home, but not by much. During a particularly long shoot, she happened to complain to another girl that she no longer had enough money to fix her car. The girl casually handed her the number of a man that she claimed could help. Bewildered, Lyla dialed it.

The man assured her that she would work for a couple hours with other male models and she would be paid triple what she was getting currently. He asked her to bring lingerie and have her hair and makeup done and that was all. She paid it no mind and took down the address.

She made her skin soft and dewy, golden like a goddess. Big, bouncy curls and bright, innocent eyes. She was surprised when she entered a hotel room with a man lying on the bed, nothing but a condom on, fully erect. Stunned, she could hardly take her eyes off of it as the producer asked her to change into her lingerie and come back out.

He stressed that she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to, but if she didn't, she wouldn't get paid. Still startled, she agreed and laid down on the bed while cameras rolled and the man next to her removed her clothes and the producer commanded her to move one way and then the other, to make noises and faces, then proclaimed them done.

She walked out with more cash in her hand than she had made her entire time in L.A. In that moment, she vowed to never look back. She contacted the producer again and set up three more shoots for the next weeks. Within weeks, she had her own apartment, a new car, and food in her fridge.

That wasn't the only part of her life that changed. Weekends were spent in the clubs, letting older men take body shoots off her and guide her to darkened back rooms. They offered her drugs that made it easier to deal with them and she accepted them gladly. The stares of men no longer made her uncomfortable. They made her feel powerful.

Then it spiraled out of control. Drunk and high, she took a coworker home, slamming him down onto her bed and removing all clothes without a second thought. When she woke up in the morning, pale and sick to her stomach, she desperately searched for evidence that they had been safe. There was no sign and she knew, instinctively, what had happened.

He wanted nothing to do with her or Piper. He supported her enough to get her through the pregnancy, but claimed she could return to work as soon as she left the hospital. She was desperate, trying to feed her son and keep him safe. She longed for her old, carefree life, while a child screamed while she put on her lipstick and eyeliner before having to entertain men twice her age.

She wanted more. She didn't want the cycle that she thought she had escaped from, but here she was with a baby she didn't truly want and a job that made her cringe every time she had to see a man on top of her. That was when she got the call from a woman named Luann with an offer.

She'd heard through friends that Lyla wanted a switch. She had seen Lyla's work and liked the look of her. She would fit in well in Luann's studio, if she wanted to do strictly girl on girl. She'd have better pay, help with Piper, and everyone there would be kind to the new girl. Lyla jumped on the chance.

Cara Cara wasn't anything like L.A., but Lyla liked that. She felt at home there. Luann was nice and always listened to her. The girls didn't necessarily like each other, but they respected each other and there was less drama here. Piper got into a good daycare, then a good school, and her habit became less about escape and more about fun.

She got a tiny house, a nice car, and more screen time. She was all right with the studio changing venues and quickly established herself as more of a mother to the girls, giving them tips and helping them with their problems. She was happy, for the first time. Not even Georgie and the need to have bikers hovering around could change that. Then her tire blew, she took it to the bikers, and finally got to meet the tall one with the beard. Opie Winston.

* * *

 _The path to SAMCRO_

There's no one correct way to arrive at SAMCRO's doorstep. The route the men take to their kutte is as varied as the men themselves.

Some, like Jax and Opie, are born to it. They have known it since birth. The expectation of their loyalty is there from the moment they entered the world. Their parents expect it, the town expects it, and they expect it from themselves. The only direction they have ever known is towards the club, towards the life of violence and death.

They are not fearful of it. They do not resent it when it gets tough. The club has cost them both a parent, Jax's to the Reaper and Opie's to hatred. They've seen the club break others and have refused to let that be them. They expect the club to hurt them and they know enough that it will get better.

Other's, like Piney and Clay, have been around it since it's inception, when nine men gathered around a table and expressed a longing for brotherhood, a different life, protection, and Harley Davidson motorcycles. Sons of Anarchy was born from that conversation.

They can't leave it, no matter what it costs them. Their health, their family, occasionally their sanity. It is too much a part of their life now to leave it, even when it gets crazy and bloody. The past cannot be changed and that's what SAMCRO is, their past. They stick to it and they'll die for it, because this is the life they built and they chose.

Then there are those that stumble on it almost by accident. Chibs, who found the chapter in Ireland and then was brought to the mother chapter in his exile. It's not where he really wanted to be, but now he can't imagine being anywhere else. It's not his beautiful Ireland, with it's rolling hills and siren's song, but it's home now somehow and he wouldn't dream of walking away.

Bobby was a nomad and agreed with the principles outlined by SAMCRO. He had a bike and a desire to ride. He wasn't even hell bent on following in his father's footsteps and live his life outside the law, he just wanted to see the world and it's women. But a chance meeting with Clay at a rally brought up the need for an accountant and Bobby volunteered, leaving behind a spiteful woman and settled in Charming.

But there are also men like Juice and Tig, who seek the club and it's principles out. Tig wants the brotherhood and violence. He doesn't mind the bloodshed. He revels in it, honestly, because he always has. The trust and loyalty keep him tethered there, rather than anywhere else. He has everything he could ever want there and he'd fight before giving it up.

Juice wants a place to belong. That's all he's ever wanted, since he was young. He'll weather the good and the bad to stay. He wants acceptance and when he was exploring the coast and found motorcycle culture, he was instantly drawn towards it. The club made him feel like he had finally found his home.

* * *

 _Rumors of abuse past and present_

Tara strides down the hall, head held high. She knows if she drops it and tries to hide, the rumors will only be worse. She doesn't look left or right, just keeps on a straight path for her locker, focused on getting there and getting her books while ignoring the whispers that follow her.

"I think it looks worse than it actually is." Donna observes, standing against Tara's locker. She spins the lock in the correct combination, reaching into it and pulling out her physics book.

"You try telling that to all everyone in the school." Tara says dryly and Donna shrugs, falling instep with her as they head towards class.

"What do you think the gossip mill is going to churn out this time?" Donna asks interestedly and Tara ponders it for a moment.

"They've gotta be getting sick of the typical stories. They're gonna have to start getting creative." Tara decides and Donna makes a face.

"I don't know, Ashley Ritter has a particularly strong passion for starting rumors about you. I think she's going to stick with tried and true." She predicts and Tara shrugs.

"I don't care what she does, because if she gets the guts up to ask me about it, we're gonna match." Tara comments and Donna laughs. Tara grins and walks into her classroom, taking her customary seat at the front of the class. She does her best to ignore the stares of her classmates as they walk in, openly gawking at her face. Even her teacher does a double take.

After class, she ducks into the bathroom and inspects her face, sighing. Makeup does nothing to cover the large black and blue mark that covers almost the entire right side of her face. She frowns and tries to bring her hair forward, but there's no covering something of that size.

She endures the whispers and stares till lunch, when she and Donna head for their typical table in the corner. She slumps and rests her face on her arms, gingerly putting her right side down and taking a deep breath.

"That bad, huh?" Donna asks sympathetically.

"You know, I'm not sure which is worse, the pregnancy rumors or the abuse rumors." Tara muses.

"Pregnancy, cause then you worry if you're getting fat." Donna says wisely and Tara nods, sitting up and taking out her sandwich for lunch.

"If Jax knew, he'd probably beat up half the school." Tara mutters.

"And that's not gonna reinforce the idea that he beats up on you." Donna says sarcastically and Tara sticks her tongue out.

"I suppose the notion that I accidently slipped and fell and hit the bar on the way down is too hard to believe?" She asks.

"Yes, because that means these people would have to accept that you go to the bar on the weekends." Donna says flatly.

"So they'd rather believe that Jax beats me than the fact that I'm not some perfect angel." She says, rolling her eyes and Donna shrugs.

"Because good student Tara is all they see." She points out. "So I'm sure in their head, it makes more sense that Jax pimps you out and another biker beat you up than you actually let your hair down sometimes." She says innocently and Tara chokes on her milk.

"Is that the rumor that's going around?" She demands and Donna laughs, shaking her head.

"No, but I'm sure Ashley will come up with something that does a bruise of that size justice." She reassures her and Tara sighs.

"Why is it that whenever we have bruises, everyone assumes that our boyfriends beat us?" She grumbles.

"This coming from the girl who practically threw a fit when I agreed to go out with Opie." Donna states, raising her eyebrows.

"I hate being a stereotype." Tara complains.

"Then get better at applying makeup." Donna suggests. "Or stop dancing on bar tops and getting so drunk you fall off them." Tara throws a crumpled up napkin at her while Donna laughs.

It amazes Tara how closely the hospital resembles high school. She doesn't dare dip her head down to look at the chart in her hands, least someone think that she's trying to hide the black and blue nose she's currently sporting. Even then, she can hear the hushed voices behind her.

"Hi." She says loudly, walking up to the nurse's station and resting her forearms on the desk. "Is my next patient ready?"

"Yes, Dr. Knowles." The nurse says, purposefully avoiding her eyes. "She's in room seven."

"Thank you." Tara says, taking the file and heading to the room, pushing it open with her butt as she inspects the chart. "Hello, Mrs. Voss, I am Dr. Tara Knowles and I will be your doctor…" She trails off when she sees the woman staring in horror at her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The woman says, snapping her mouth shut, flustered. "Um, yes, I'm Angela, you can call me Angie." She says quickly and Tara smiles, sitting down and pulling on gloves.

"Well, Angie, I'm just gonna check for several complications we're worried about with your pregnancy." She says pleasantly and proceeds to make small talk, examining and drawing blood, asking questions and filling out forms. Finally, Angie appears to be unable to hold it in.

"Are you dating Jax Teller?" She asks, as Tara peels off her gloves. Startled into telling the truth, Tara nods. "I just… I hope that you're ok. I know it's none of my business but…" She quietly looks down at her hands.

"Jax didn't do this to me." Tara says instantly, thrown back to defending him in high school. "I was in an accident."

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business, just…" Angie apologizes and Tara waves a hand, shaking her head.

"No, it's fine, I'm your doctor, and you have a right to wonder." She reassures her. "But it was a complete accident."

"Ok." Angie says and Tara shows her out of the room. Afterwards, she heads to the bathroom and takes a long look at herself in the mirror. The girl gazing back at her remembers a time when her bruises weren't accidental.

"Stop." She tells herself firmly. "He's gone now. He can't hurt you. He can't do anything. You're fine. You're a survivor." She takes a deep breath and rubs her arms, blocking out visions of long sleeve shirts, even in Chicago's summer heat to hide her pale arms.

It's funny, that the man that everyone assumes hurt her has only ever protected her and the man that was supposedly such a great guy turned out to be the exact opposite. She closes her eyes then goes back to the rumors. She's use to facing them by now.

* * *

 _Tara's flashbacks in Abel's room "Trying to figure out how I fit into all of this. The violence, the porn, the other girls, your mother. "_

She sits, watching Abel as he dozes, lost in thought. The little boy is such a unexpected surprise in her life, something she never could have predicted but now wouldn't change for the world. He is a sign that so much has changed since she was 16 and in love with Jax, but also that nothing has. She's just as lost and confused as she was all those years ago.

The first time she saw Jax violent was the first time she ever realized why so many people at the school treated him differently.

"I just wanna take you home." He begs. She laughs and rests her head on his shoulder. She's sitting in the edge of a picnic table, Jax standing between her legs and cradling her head in his hands.

"You're drunk." She points out teasingly.

"So?" He asks, dipping his head to kiss her repeatedly. "I don't even wanna be here, I just want to go home with you."

"You're the one who wanted to come here so bad." She reminds him and he sighs, looking over his shoulder at the crowd.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He asks lowly and she raises her eyebrows. "I only wanted to come so I could show you off." He reveals.

"That's a lie. You wanted to come here because there's free booze." She says and he pouts while she laughs.

"Can't even let me sweet for two minutes." He complains.

"It's not sweet if it's a lie." Tara reminds him.

"I would never lie about knowing you're the hottest girl here." He protests and she rolls her eyes.

"Maybe not, but stop pretending the idea of free beer didn't lure you here just as much as me." She orders and he grins, kissing her forehead.

"I'll get us another drink and then we can go." He promises and she crosses her legs, watching him go skeptically. She watches the crowd idly, noticing that she hardly recognizes anyone here. More and more, Jax has been taking her to things with the club's crowd, rather than students.

A loud yell draws her attention to the way Jax had went. She twists then hops down off the table are the sight of a circle forming around two scuffling men. She pushes her way through the ring of people, unsurprised to find Jax in the middle of it. She watches with baited breath.

"Get him Jax!" One man cheers, spilling his beer in excitement.

"Kick his ass!" Another yells, while some of the women standing around laugh and clap. Tara ignores all of them. She's too busy watching and hoping that Jax is alright. The other man is double his size, though Jax appears to have a lot more stamina. She stays quiet.

Jax lands a couple good punches, then a couple more. It's not long before the other man collapses, face bloody. Jax doesn't let up, still pounding him. She watches in horror as blood covers him and he has to be pulled off by another man, who shoves him towards her.

"Jesus Christ Jax." She says, guiding him away from the crowd. "What the hell was that about?"

"Insulted the club." He says shortly, wiping blood as it drips in front of his eyes. She stares at him, alarmed.

"Then let the club handle it!" She suggests sharply and he shakes his head. "Jax, you beat him up. Badly!" He looks at her balefully, covered in sweat and blood. She recoils from him. "Clean yourself up." She orders quietly, standing up and walking away. He doesn't follow.

The first time Tara spends time with crow eaters and old ladies, she realizes why Jax sometimes doesn't understand why she does certain things.

"So I told him, if that bitch was pregnant, he had to choose between her or me." One woman states. Tara, behind her, exchanges silent glances with Donna, who masks her look of horror with a drink of beer.

"What'd he say?" Another woman asks interestedly. The first one shrugs, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder.

"He left her." She says smugly. "So now the kids know that they got a little brother in Atlanta and he's gotta pay child support, but that slut doesn't come anywhere near me and mine."

"Good for you." The other women chorus. They continue with stories of drug abuse, infidelities, and fights, each sounding worse than the last.

"Do you think anyone where has ever seen a function relationship?" Tara wonders, hiding in the bathroom as Donna pees.

"No." Donna says firmly. "If they had, they wouldn't be here."

"What does that say about us?" Tara asks ruefully.

"That your daddy is a drunk and mine is an absentee minister?" Donna tells her, a biting edge in her tone.

"Good point. Still. I don't want to be these women!" She protests and Donna shrugs, drying her hands.

"Hopefully it'll be different because we've known Jax and Opie for so long." She says hopefully and Tara rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, but if he ever has a kid in Atlanta, I'm leaving." She says flatly and Donna snickers, leading her back to the party.

Tara sits on Jax's lap as he talks to a ring of men, looking around curiously. All the women are in their trademark tight jeans and corsets, hair high and makeup thick. She spots herself in the mirror, in her ragged jeans, loose sweatshirt, and messy braid. If there's a woman that stands out the most, it's her.

"Did you have fun?" Jax asks her, as he slides his pants off and pulls the covers up. She thinks about it for a moment, pulling on one of his oversized tee shirts then crawling in next to him.

"I'm nothing like those women." She confesses.

"And?" Jax asks, nonplussed.

"Do you want me to be like them?" She asks and he shakes his head, running his hands through her hair.

"They're all like my mother. I prefer to date someone that isn't like my mother." He jokes and she pretends to laugh along, but she's not appeased. As Jax dozes off, she ponders how she fits in with him and those women.

The day Tara misses Jax the most, she tries to rationalize why she left, because she never belonged in Charming anyways.

"And this test is going to be a complete bitch, I just know it, there's no way I'm going to get above a C…" Shelly is rambling in her ear, but Tara has stopped dead in her tracks, mid sidewalk, frozen at the sound of a bike.

"Does that guy have blond hair?" She asks, interrupting Shelly completely. She frowns, squinting at the bike stopped at an intersection.

"I don't see any hair under that helmet anyways." She says dismissively and Tara nods, robotically moving her feet. "So like I was saying, everyone is going to fail, so hopefully the curve will save me…"

Tara tunes her out, trying to calm her racing heart and jagged breathing. She keeps repeating to herself that it wasn't Jax, but she can't help the idea that somehow she'd missed something and he is here.

"I gotta go." She says abruptly, stopping Shelly.

"Why, I thought we were gonna go study at the library together?" Shelly asks, nonplussed and Tara shakes her head, walking swiftly for a bench a ways away. Confused, Shelly continues to the library while Tara sits, head in hands, trying to breathe.

"You hate him. You didn't belong. You hate him. You didn't belong." She whispers to herself in between her breaths. She closes her eyes and rubs her temples, trying to get rid of the memories cropping back up. Jax, grinning at her with those irresistible puppy dog eyes. Jax, blond hair in the wind, on his bike. Jax, looming over her, lust evident in his barely controlled movements, pulling her close.

She opens her eyes, bringing herself back to the present. College. School. High education. Smart people, her people, not bikers and drug addicts. She is meant to be here. She should be here. This is her place and her calling.

That doesn't absolve her of the enormous guilt she feels. Jax had asked her to stay. He had promised her that she would be his old lady. She'd have all the respect of the crow eaters, even the begrudging respect of Gemma herself. Expect she couldn't bring herself to do it.

A smart girl didn't belong with bikers. As much as she loved Jax, she couldn't bring herself to love them too. Sure, she had certain favorites, ones she trusted more than others, and ones like Opie, whom she actively liked. But Jax was different with them and she could never love a man whose two halves were so completely different. She needed him to be wholly hers.

That wasn't possible and that was why she left. She keeps reminding herself of this fact. She didn't have a place there, with men that barely finished middle school and some women that didn't make it through high school. She needed more and if that made her selfish, so be it. She had left Charming.

But Charming hadn't left her. It followed her in the sound of motorcycles and the smell of cigarettes, how the flashbacks hadn't stopped yet. All it would take was one trigger that could send her hurtling back to him, his smile, his easy drawl. She couldn't guard herself from these moments and they bombarded her constantly, making her feel fragile.

She stands up, pulling her backpack up with her. Not today. She won't let them today. Her place is in the library, in med school, in a hospital. Not wasting away as Jax Teller's old lady. She strides in with purpose, looking for Shelly.

"Hey, is everything ok?" Shelly asks with concern, as Tara sits down and pulls out her notes.

"Yeah, I just felt sick. It's passed. I'm back now." She promises, smiling. And she means it.

 **AN:** A looooong chapter- Do you guys like it better when it's more stories that are shorter or would you prefer less stories but longer? Let me know what you think about that or anything in this episode in a review! Thanks for reading.


	19. Season 2- Falx Cerebri

Episode 6: Falx Cerebri

 _Chib's dreams in the ambulance_

He's not even aware that he's been knocked out, the blast is so sudden. One moment he's getting ready to move the van, the next he's racing through the rolling hills of his home country. He's on the banks of the river in Glasgow; gliding along them, watching at his first home passes.

He wants to stop, to slow down on the streets he barely remembers, to go through and find the places his mother once described to him, but he can't. Things flash by faster and faster and his head hurts, he feels sick, and then there's only blackness around him.

Then his home appears. Belfast, the love of his life, his city and his childhood. He glides over the river, from bank to bank; delighting in the scenes he has missed so much. He heads for the northwestern hills, losing his breath at their stunning beauty.

He hasn't even realized how much he's missed this place, how his heart and soul has longed for the twisted streets of his youth. The beautiful, stunning gardens, to the wide-open parks. Then, before he even knows it, he's at the front door of a little blue house, flowers in the window boxes, and a white front door.

Hands trembling, he reaches out and pushes the door open, terrified yet anxious to find out what lies behind it. Everything is just like he remembers it, sunlight streaming through the open windows; the wooden floors clean and polished, the smell of blueberry muffins in the air.

By memory, he makes his way to the kitchen, where he hopes he'll find them. He hesitates in the doorway, unsure if he should leave the illusion where it is or press on and get proven wrong.

He finally steps through the door and the breath deserts his lungs. Fiona's beautiful hair, thick and dark, her smooth, creamy skin. His wife looks up from the stove and beams at him.

"Hullo, darlin'." She says, walking and kissing him. He doesn't want to stop kissing her, doesn't want to let her go. He knows, from the impending sense of doom that if he does, something will go wrong. So he clings tightly to her and she responds in kind, her body fitting against his just like it always has.

"Daddy!" Kerrianne's cry is the only thing that can separate him from Fiona and he swings the little girl high, heart racing. He clasps her close and while she's babbling on, he can't focus on her words but rather her face.

She has her mother's skin, just a shade lighter, smooth and soft, like Fiona's always has been. Dark hair, like his, curly and a little bit wild. Her big, dark eyes, looking up at him adoringly. His heart feels like it's going to burst at the sight of her, his little girl.

He sits at the table with his girls, as they talk and laugh. He tries to soak up every word, the nagging feeling that this is wrong pulling stronger and stronger in his stomach. They're so beautiful, so happy, so perfect… His girls, his family, his home, just like he left it, just like he's always wanted it.

Something isn't right. His head is pounding, aching in a pain that is too strong for him to stomach, but he knows if he gives in, the vision will disappear and once again, he'll have to leave them. The pain gets worst, but Kerrianne's bright smile makes it all better.

Soon, Fiona has taken his hand, pulling him up the steep stairs, to the first door on the left. Their bedroom, the large bed, the photograph of them on the Cliffs of Moher, the one from their wedding, Kerrianne's first baby photo, all the memories of their life together.

Fiona pulls him towards the bed, curling up next to him. He breathes her smell in and closes his eyes once more. He's cold and the darkness seems to swallow him whole. He holds tight to Fiona. The darkness seems threatening somehow. He doesn't want this to just be a dream when he wakes up.

This is all he wants. His girls and his home.

* * *

 _Jax and Hale in high school_

The idea of working with Jax makes Hale sick. He's always hated Jax, ever since they were in high schools, their differences less apparent than they are now, but still on the opposite spectrum.

A boy in a varsity letter jacket and a boy in a Sons kutte.

Jax swaggers down the hallway. There is no other way to describe it. He is full of confidence, bordering on cocky. Girls turn and giggle when he goes past, making worshipful noises. David Hale, standing at his locker, rolls his eyes and slams it shut, following in Jax's wake.

Jax doesn't even really seem aware of what's going on. Mostly, he keeps his head on a swivel and looks around for Opie and Tara. Hale knows that Tara usually meets him at the bottom of the stairs and try as he might, he can't help but watch them. Hanging back, he spots her at the top of the stairs, descending.

He's always had a crush on her. It's hard not to. She's one of the smartest girls, with pretty, brown hair and big, sparking olive eyes. She's got an expressive face and his stomach contorts with jealousy when he sees how it lights up at the sight of Jax, kissing his cheek.

"I completely failed that history test." She's complaining, as Jax laughs and shakes his head.

"Nonsense, you always say that and then you end up getting A's." He says dismissively and Hale knows he should keep walking, but he stays where he is, listening.

"Well, it's not like I really got to study this weekend." Tara chides and Jax doesn't even bat an eye.

"C'mon, you had fun. Admit it. Even Donna said she had a good time, and you know she hates club shit more than you." Jax teases and Tara rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile.

"Yeah, it was fun. But it won't be if I fail this test." She warns and Jax just smiles, tossing an arm around her and kissing her head.

It all seems backwards to Hale. He's the good guy. The nice one. All the girls should want to date the star football player. At least, that's how it's always worked in those stupid movies he's ever watched. Then why are they with Jax Teller? Fuming, he attempts to push past Jax on the way to class.

"Watch it." Jax says loudly, a protective arm around Tara. "This isn't your stupid football field, you can't just knock down people in the way." Hale glares at him while Tara rolls her eyes and attempts to pull Jax away.

"This isn't some street brawl like you have with your stupid club." Hale spits and Jax fires up at once.

"You got a problem?" He demands.

"Stop walking around this place like you own it!" Hale shoots back.

"Why, cause you think you do?" Jax retorts, sneering. "You play with a ball on Friday nights, how does that make you special?"

"It takes more talent then riding around some bike your parents bought you." Hale scoffs. "Actually, just your mom, cause your dad is dead." With a roar like a bull, Jax pulls away and rushes for Hale. Teachers and fellow football players intervene before he makes it to Hale. They are sent to their separate classrooms and Hale, breathing heavily, throws his backpack down and sits.

He can almost hear his father now, scolding his second son for getting in a fight with Jax Teller. He'd tell him that force is the club's game. Smarts are theirs. He has to outsmart Jax, that's all it is.

Problem is, he knows that Jax is smart, deep down. Tara wouldn't be with him for any other reason, if he couldn't keep up with her. That only serves to make Hale angrier.

As he walks out of the school, towards the locker rooms and fields for practice, he hears Tara's unmistakable laugh, followed by the sound of a motorcycle loudly peeling from the parking lot. He doesn't watch, just grits his teeth. Hopefully they're having a hitting practice today.

* * *

 _Princess Polly_

"Well, aren't you daddy's little princess?" Those are the first words Ethan Zobelle coos to his daughter and they set the tone for the rest of her life. At age three, she puts on a white dress and prances through the house Easter morning, fluttering her eyelashes and playing with her prim, white gloves.

"Darling, you look like a little angel." He says, picking her up and spinning her around. Laughing, she buries her head in his shoulder, clinging to him tightly. He sets her down, admiring her.

"Are we going to see Jesus, daddy?" She asks innocently.

"Of course, my sweet girl." He says, whisking her away to the church, where the skin tones match her dress. She is passed around and admired, the adults oohing and ahh-ing over her perfect golden curls and perfect little dress. It's the first time she feels like the princess her daddy calls her.

At age 7, she discovers she can get whatever she wants.

Suzie has a dog and it's driving Polly mad. All day in school, she talks about her perfect, little black dog, with his one white paw. All the other girls are obsessed with it and refuse to play games with Polly anymore. They're all sucking up to Suzie, trying to get invited to her house for a slumber party.

She comes home in a rage, throwing her school bag with a yell and pulling a huge painting off the wall. Unfazed and seemingly amused, her father watches, as she stands in the entry, furious.

"What's wrong darling?" He asks, concern in his voice.

"Suzie Maybury got a dog." She spits, anger rising. "And now all the stupid girls in that stupid school think she's so pretty and cool. She's not! She's not! She just has a stupid dog, that doesn't mean anything! If I had a dog, it'd be way cooler that stupid Suzie's dog!" Her eyes suddenly light up and she calms her breathing, smoothing down her hair and picking up her backpack. "I'm sorry." She apologizes sweetly, trying to hang the painting back up.

"It's ok princess." He says, helping her. "We all have bad days."

"It's just," She juts her lip out for extra effect. "All those girls, I thought they were my friends and now they all like her better. I don't have any friends." Tears swim in her eyes and her father, kneels, gently taking her hand.

"Of course you have friends sweetie, I promise to make sure of that!" He claims. "Anything you want, name it."

"Well," She says thoughtfully, tears gone in the blink of an eye. "If I had a puppy like Suzie, maybe the girls would like me better."

An hour later, she happily sits in the back seat, a tiny puppy shaking on her lap and a smug smile on her face.

At 15, she decides no boy will ever live up to her father.

"So, what are we going to do today?" She asks, skipping slightly ahead of the boy and turning around to give him a coy smile. She's proud to note that his eyes were following the bouncing of her perky chest before he looks up and blinks a couple times.

"Well, I was thinking we could go get something to eat, if that's what you'd like." He tries and she beams, catching his arm.

"Oh, I heard that new Italian place down on Main is suppose to be excellent. You could get a little suit and tie, I have a perfect new dress I want to try." She gushes and he hesitates.

"Polly, I don't have a suit. And I can't afford that place." He tells her, slowing her down. A little pout emerges as she contemplates him.

"But, I thought you said I was your princess." She says, lip quivering.

"You are!" He reassures her instantly. "You're my favorite, my darling, my sweetie, of course you're my princess!"

"Then why can't we go to that restaurant?" She asks, letting a couple large tears follow down her cheeks for dramatic effect.

"I just, I can't…" He sputters out, looking hopelessly at her round face as it looks more and more crestfallen.

"I just thought… That you'd be willing to anything for me." She says softly, gently pulling her arm away. "It's fine, I understand."

"Polly, wait!" He calls, trying to catch her arm and she shrugs it off, leaving him standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching her walk away, desperately trying to figure out what to say to win her back.

"Daddy!" She calls, entering the house.

"Yes, princess?" He asks, exiting his office.

"Can we go to that new Italian place on Main Street tonight?" She requests, smiling and swaying back and forth, hands clasped in front of her heart.

"I'll make us reservations right now. I hope you're going to wear that new dress." He suggests and she beams, stretching on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

"Of course daddy!" And happily, she bounces to her room, wondering why she bothers with boys when she has her father.

* * *

 _Girls shooting_

If someone told 16 year old Tara Knowles that she'd be standing at a porn studio with Gemma Teller, holding a gun, she would've assumed it was because Gemma was going to try and murder her.

But now, standing at Cara Cara with a gun that fits so oddly well in her hand, Tara can't help but wonder what a pair they make. The dark hair, the sunglasses, and the two queens of Charming. Gemma gestures for her to step up and Tara, feeling like this goes against her entire world, does.

"Now squeeze slowly." Gemma instructs. "It'll have some kick." Tara isn't a natural like Gemma- she stands with her arms out, too straight and too stiff. She's not quite sure how she's going to pull the trigger, even if it is just at some porn poster Gemma tacked up.

She shoots and it's wide, hitting the blue of the building and nowhere near the woman on the poster. She feels exhilaration and then disappointment. What's the purpose of owning a gun if she won't be able to even hit the men that hurt Gemma? She shoots again, hoping this will be better.

"No, you're gripping too hard." Gemma informs her, tossing her own purse and gun aside so she can put her hands on Tara's arm and back. "You wanna hold it firm, but let it breathe." Tara nods, unsure of what those words really mean. "Alright." Gemma says, getting behind her and using her hands to put Tara in position. "Now put the sight on what you want dead, then take a breath," Tara does as told. "And-" Tara fires.

She can't pretend that it's not doubly weird and reassuring to have Gemma be teaching her the ropes. She wonders if Gemma's thinking the same thing, that they were once basically enemies for Jax's love and now here they are, having target practice together.

Gemma looks with pride at Tara's shooting. It's not great, and she wouldn't trust the girl to walk away alive in a shootout, but for right now it's passable. She stays behind her as Tara fires off more rounds, each a little closer to the mark than the one before.

"Good." She says, letting Tara's thin arms go and getting a fresh poster to put up. She's not going to say she's impressed with Tara's progress, from a timid girl who only expressed hatred towards her, to the brazen woman that stands here now, gun in hand. She's just happy that Tara's taking steps towards the club, rather than making Jax take steps away.

"Is it always like this?" Tara asks, and Gemma hears that note in her voice, fighting to be casual and failing. She straightens the poster, wondering how to play this. Make it seem worse; hoping it'll scare her off? Or make it seem ok, and keep this new Tara around?

"No." She says firmly. She turns and faces Tara. "You came back to him at a bad time." Tara looks away, eyebrows rising. "It settles down. Gets downright boring. I promise." She assures her, walking with Tara back to the guns.

It's not a lie and it's mostly true. There are periods where it's been calm, where she's been bored and looking for amusement. But they are rare and far in between. To Gemma, they are boring and annoying. She loves the outlaw lifestyle, and Tara is going to have to learn to love it too.

They stand side by side as Ima arrives, her bleached blonde hair shining in the sun. Gemma watches with approval as Tara loads the gun and aims it towards the porn star, watching as panic covers her face.

Tara's not quite sure what her hands are doing; all she knows is that she's going it idly, almost absentmindedly. She spins it as Ima locks the car and fairly sprints for the door. All of her trepidation of the gun melts away when she sees the woman that wants to steal Jax from her.

"That was fun." She admits, lowering the gun as Gemma looks at her with a sly smile, as though she's proud of her.

"You're gonna love this." Gemma says, striding past her and raising the gun. With a movement that looks all too natural, she brings it up and shoots Ima's back tire, setting the alarm off. She looks back at Tara with a grin and even though there's a part of Tara's brain screaming that this is wrong, she grins back.

She raises her own gun and the car is a far easily target than the woman on the poster. She shoots, the relaxation helping her bullets find their mark. Gemma is laughing too, shooting her own gun, both of them laughing as the window shatters and the car is destroyed.

It's an odd form of mother-daughter bonding, but Tara can't help but keep laughing, finally letting her tension go. Maybe this is a second chance for her and Gemma to get off on the right foot.

 **AN:** The usual, but I tried to explore some non usual characters- Chibs is always a favorite and Polly, even though I hated her, is interesting as well. Let me know what you think, I would love more reviews this chapter!


	20. Season 2- Gilead

Episode 7- Gilead

 _Tara getting the call Jax is in prison_

Abel is wailing and nothing will stop it. Not his bottle, not his blanket, not walking in circles around the house or the rocking chair, not even Tara humming and curling up with him. He is utterly inconsolable and Tara is at her wits end. She is questioning her abilities with children and whether she should suck up her pride and call Gemma when the phone rings.

"It's like she knows." She mutters to Abel, bouncing him and getting him to hush enough so that she can hear herself think. "Hello?"

"Tara, it's Gemma."

"Yeah, I was actually just about to call you. Abel is so fussy, nothing will calm him down." She says, making extreme expressions to keep Abel from resuming his screaming.

"Tara, Jax is in jail." Gemma states plainly, without preamble and Tara drops the bottle she had been holding. "Something went wrong, half the club's in. Meet me at the clubhouse in a little bit. I'm calling the lawyer now." She hangs up, leaving Tara stunned. Numbly, she sets the phone down, collapsing on the couch and only returns to Earth when Abel begins to whine.

"I know, I know." She whispers, gently rocking him. "I know it's just me here, it's not your daddy and he's the one you want. You want your daddy and he's gone away and it's just me, it's just me…" She starts crying, tears blurring her vision, but she stares down at Abel. "It's just me, it's just me, daddy's gone away, but I'm here Abel, I'm here…"

She wants to break down and wail. She wants to throw things and run to their bed and hide until Jax comes home and tells her it was all a joke, that he is never in any danger. She knows it's a hopeless dream. She's a big girl now and that means dealing with big girl problems. With a deep breath, she wipes her tears.

It's time to put her Gemma face on. Time to pretend to be the fearless, stone-faced old lady. The princess of Charming, just learning another royal duty. When to call the lawyer, when to protect her men. It's nothing more than a giant chessboard and currently her knight is in danger. Time for her to make a move.

She puts Abel in his car seat. Something about her change in attitude has calmed him. He's now quiet, watching her with his big blue eyes, taking everything in. Tara's heart is breaking, not because her love won't curl up next to her tonight or because she's got to shoulder the burden of loving a convict. It's because Abel will fall asleep tonight without his father's kiss.

She walks out of the house, the air colder. She still feels dazed, like she's just going through the motions. The world is slow motion around her, like she's the only thing that can move at normal speed. The lights seem brighter and she squints as she makes her way to the clubhouse.

She pulls up, walking in. Gemma is waiting for her, pacing back and forth. At Tara's entrance, she walks over and embraces her. Tara lets Gemma hold her, feeling oddly comforted that at least Gemma knows what to do. Gemma lets her go and looks down at her imploringly.

"They're going to be ok." She promises and Tara nods, trying to get the squirming in her stomach that makes her want to throw up die down. Gemma takes her hand, squeezes it, and leads her to the table.

* * *

 _Why Opie gets pissed at the drug dealer_

He doesn't even feel the sunlight as he walks out into the parking lot. All he feels in numb, like always. Like nothing can hurt him, not heat, not cold, not bullets. He is marble and steel. He is on a mission, nothing more, nothing less. Everything is for the club.

"Oh shit." He hears Lyla say.

"What the hell is this?" The smarmy drug dealer asks, eyeballing him with an appalled expression.

"Luann hired security." Lyla tells him and Opie steps up.

"Get inside." He orders. Lyla looks down and walks past him, but the drug dealer doesn't seem so compliant.

"Relax, hot dog." He sneers, as Opie approaches him. Something flickers in Opie's brain and before he's conscious of deciding to do it, he's punched the man in the stomach, then the face, till he drops to the ground. He picks up the bag and pulls out the drugs.

"Let's call this your harassment fine." He informs him.

"Stupid bitch." The drug dealer yells, looking at Lyla was rage in his eyes. Opie feels heat run through his body. He feels… Protective? Protective feels good. Protective is something he hasn't felt since he couldn't protect his wife. He pulls his gun and levels it.

"Another word and I'll blow your Jap head off." He warns, blood thundering in his ears. It's nice, to feel something other than rage and numbness.

"I'm Chinese." The man has the audacity to correct him and the rage, the urge to pull the trigger and release it is building in Opie.

"You're gone." He orders, half hoping the man will leave and half hoping he won't. Slowly, the man nods.

"We'll see." He says threateningly and Opie lowers the gun as he climbs into his car. He squeals out of the parking lot and Opie looks back at Lyla, who's watching wide eyed but clearly unafraid.

"Thanks." He says gruffly, unsure of why he feels ashamed that his anger overtook him. He pretends to make a deal out of inspecting the drugs closely. He jumps when Lyla puts a hand on his shoulder.

"If you need anything else, let me know, ok?" She says and he looks into her eyes, something other than anger turning his stomach into knots. Wordlessly, he nods and she smiles, stretching up to kiss his cheek and walks back into the studio. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head, and walks away.

* * *

 _Oswald's daughter Tristan marrying a biker_

"Honey, please, please, reconsider." Her mother begs her. Tristan keeps brushing on makeup, apparently oblivious to her mother's pale face behind her. "Tristan, your father and I, we love so much."

"I know mom." Tristan says, a hint of impatience creeping into her tone. "And that's why I asked you to be here today, because I love you too, very much. And I wanted you to see your only child get married."

"We do!" Her mother says earnestly. "We do, but Tristan honey, have you even though this out?"

"No mom." Tristan says, sarcasm arriving in full force. "I haven't once thought in the past three years about this, about how much I love him, about how I can't wait for life with him, about how he is the best man I have ever met. It's been completely mindless for three years."

"I'm just saying," Her mother says, clearly backtracking. "He's not the man your father and I pictured you settling down with."

"Hoped I'd settle down with." Tristan corrects, uncapping her lipstick and pursing her lips. She smacks them when she's satisfied with the deep red color. "You guys wanted me to marry Steve the lawyer or Don the CEO or boring man from some place I don't care about. Admit it, you'd rather I marry a guy who doesn't give a shit about me but has money before I married a man who loves me and doesn't." She challenges.

"Tristan!" Her mother says, outraged and Tristan turns, raising her eyebrows and sighs.

"Mom, I know you guys love me, a lot. And you've done so much for me. You bought me all the toys and clothes I could want, you sent me to the best schools, you did everything right. Is it wrong that I want that love from my future husband?" She asks, taking her mother's hands.

"He. Does not. Love you. Like us." Her mother says thickly and Tristan lets their hands slip apart.

"Yes, he does." Tristan says coolly. "He doesn't buy me the newest car or diamond jewelry. He doesn't own a stable full of purebred horses or have a chef cater every meal. I will not have a three-story mansion to laze around in. But every day he will kiss me good morning and good night and love me every second in between and that is more than what most men can give."

"Is this because of what happened to you when you were young?" Her mother asks, horrified. "Because you think no good man can love you after what that man did to you, because Tristan, sweetie-"

"No." Tristan says sharply, cutting her off. She takes a couple deep breaths to calm herself back down. "No mom, not everything has to do with me being raped." Her mother gives a small gasp. "I love him. Get over it. You can either go downstairs and sit in that damn seat and cry if you so please, but you will keep your damn mouth about Shawn, ok?"

"I cannot let my daughter go through with this and ruin her life. Not after everything we worked for. Not after everything we did for her." Her mother says flatly, getting up and standing in front of the door. Tristan watches her, with something almost like pity on her face.

"I feel sorry for you." She says quietly and her mother stares at her, flabbergasted. "It's sad that your reputation means more to you than your child's happiness. That you would rather see her in a loveless marriage than a happy one, all because some of daddy's business partners back in Charming might hear that his precious baby girl married some dirty biker."

"It's because your father let you around those damn men when you were young and impressionable. You've obviously romanticized their lifestyle." Her mother says loudly.

"Those damn men saved my life and protected me from things you couldn't." She reminds her. "And I'm not romanticizing their lifestyle. I'm just not delusional about yours anymore." With that, she grabs her flowers and marches past her mother, down the stairs.

"Baby, are you sure?" Her father asks desperately, when she loops arms with him. She turns and faces the doors, nodding.

"Mom has two minutes to sit down." She says in a clipped tone. "I'm going down that aisle with or without her there." They watch the clock in silence. Two minutes later, the strains of music float to them and Tristan pushes the doors open, smiling at the guests rise.

Some are her family. Some are Shawn's. Mostly it's their friends, smiling and cheering for her as she walks towards her future husband, beaming. She sees out of the corner of her eye her weeping mother but pushes forward, kissing her father's cheek before joining Shawn.

"You look amazing. I love you." He mutters and she gently touches the black kutte and smiles up at him.

"I love you more." She responds and smiling, they hold hands before turning to the minister.

She knows when she turns around, a dark haired woman with calculating eyes and a chest scar won't be watching her, silently approving of her choices. Gemma Teller has been dead for a long time. But Tristan likes to think the woman that saved her life is still watching, from somewhere. She knows in her heart that she is doing her proud.

* * *

 _"Is he out of his goddamn mind?" Tara remembering Donna_

The sight of Lyla waiting in the doorway for Opie's kids makes Tara want to vomit. Or throw things. She clears the counter in wide swoop, then stares at the mess on the kitchen floor, wondering when she became unable to control her rage. Gemma rests her hand on Tara's shoulder.

"Those kids…" Tara says, breathing heavily. "They are Donna's kids. Who does she think she is?"

"Opie's distraction." Gemma says soothingly. "You know he's having a hard time with Donna's death."

"As he should!" Tara rages. "He was married to her Gemma! He loved her! She was the only one, the only one for him in high school…" She begins to cry, serving to only maker her madder. "How can he love a slut like that after her?"

"He doesn't." Gemma says firmly. "He just needs someone. She's just pussy Tara, nothing more."

"Donna was his soul mate." Tara mutters. "She's nothing and she needs to be reminded of that."

"We'll make sure she gets the message." Gemma assures her and Tara nods then hurries to Abel when he cries. She picks him up and rocks him, clutching him close to stop her tears.

As always, memories of Donna come back to her in flashes. Her laughing on the beach somewhere, pale skin and a green and blue-stripped suit. Her eating fruit and doing homework on the back porch. Her and Opie, smiling and riding off onto a bike. The tears come down thicker.

She feels guilt, so much guilt. Endless, crushing guilt that she didn't try to get close to Donna again. She was in Charming for months, but there was never a right time. Donna hated the club, and then once she didn't, it was all too late and she was gone from them.

"It's ok, it's ok, it's ok…" She mummers to Abel, who's quickly falling back asleep. She can't do right by Donna, not anymore. But she can help the two people Donna loved more than all else- her children. She can protect them from the mistakes Opie is making in his grief. She vows they will never suffer and that the slut will never be in their life. She puts Abel back down and walks back to the kitchen, when Gemma is speaking with them quietly.

"And we'll take you home when your dad is back, ok?" She says and Ken and Ellie nod, quiet.

"C'mon kids, lets watch some TV." Tara says, gesturing to the couch.

"Can it be Spongebob?" Ken asks hopefully and Tara smiles.

"Of course." She says and they settle on the couch. Tara and Gemma share a knowing nod, then Tara turns the TV on and turns the remote over to the kids, protectively wrapping an arm around Ellie.

 **AN:** A lot of Tara, what can I say? I love her. Have also had this head cannon of Tristan marrying a biker for forever, so it was nice to finally get that out. Tell you what you think, love it, hate it, what you want more of. Your reviews and such thoughtful analysis of this show keeps me writing, it really does. Please leave a review!


	21. Season 2- PotLatch

Episode 8- PotLatch

 _"Is there anything you love, so much, you'd protect it, no matter the cost, the damage it did to you?" "Yeah, a child." What Abel does to Tara_

5:19 am. Abel is wailing. Tara doesn't even need the baby monitor to hear him. His vocal lungs are being used to their full capacity. Sighing, she rolls out of bed and pads down the hallway, rubbing her sore eyes. She blinks and looks down at Abel. He falls silent at the sight of her before breaking out in a huge, gummy smile, waving his hands.

"Hi sweetheart." She says, softening instantly, reaching into the crib and picking him up. "Good morning, are you hungry? Yeah, I bet you are." She coos, walking with him to the kitchen and preparing a bottle. She moves about the kitchen easily, cradling Abel and making a bottle and a pot of coffee at the same time.

He's quiet in her arms as she moves around the kitchen, still half asleep. She grabs the bottle when it's ready, guiding it to his mouth and letting him hold it so she can pour herself a cup of coffee. She sips it and looks down at him. He's watching her, wide eyed.

As she always does when she sees his bright blue eyes and wrinkled nose, rosebud lips and smooth skin, she smiles until her cheeks hurt. A sense of love so strong rises up and she holds him a little closer, leaning down to kiss his forehead. She searches for Jax in his features, marveling how he changes each day.

She doesn't search for herself. She knows there is no chance, not possible in any way. But sometimes she thinks her sheer force of will somehow magically make her Abel's real mother. That's how it feels in her heart at least. She loves and hurts just as much as any true mother.

He fusses and she shifts him, settling him back down quickly. She smiles, thinking about how no more than a couple months ago, his cries would have made her panic, worrying about if she's a bad mom, making all the wrong choices. Now she just goes with it, trusts that she'll be ok.

She is the best choice for Abel, she knows that. Maybe even better than Jax, who loves his son but doesn't know how to raise a baby amidst the chaos that is his life. Certainly better than Gemma, who would turn Abel into Clay at the first possible chance. She protects him from the path that would destroy him and destroy her as well.

There's a chance he will still turn into Jax. Nature over nurture. His genes are his genes and no amount of love will change that. But she is willing to let him hurt her. She will love him until the end of time, because he is her son. No matter what he will do, he will always be her child.

He finishes his bottle and she finishes her coffee. Lifting him up and smiling at him, she takes a second to check over him, mom mode blurring with doctor mode. Then she kisses his belly and cuddles him. He smells like her baby, her son, her perfect boy.

She walks back to the bedroom, setting him down by Jax. Abel is waving his hands and kicking his legs. Tara lies on her side, watching him in amusement. After awhile, his squirrelly movements and little grunts and coos wakes up Jax, who rolls over and blinks, narrowly missing Abel's fist with his nose.

"Good morning my boy." He says, kissing his head. "And good morning my love." He says and when he looks up at her, a flutter in heart makes her realize Abel isn't the only one her protective heart loves more than anything.

* * *

 _"A Harley and a Kutte." Baby Jax_

"Jackson!" Gemma yells, standing in the kitchen, trying to make supper. She listens for the sound of her son to run into the kitchen. Soon enough, he does, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. His blond head appears and quickly after, his big blue eyes are trained on her.

"What mama?" He asks, eyeing the treats on the counter hopefully.

"It's almost Christmas." Gemma tells him, giving him a small piece of candy. "Daddy and I are going to get you presents. What would you like?" Eagerly, Jax takes the candy and pops it into his mouth.

"I wan' a 'arwee!" He says loudly and Gemma takes a moment to decipher the toddler babble.

"You want a Harley?" She guesses and Jax nods, beaming. "Like what your daddy has?"

"Like Daddy and Unca Pinwee and Unca Otto and Unca Walwee." Jax rambles, listing off club members. Gemma smiles, kissing his head.

"And what else?" She asks.

"Um, a helicopter." He says, picking up a crayon and a piece of paper, scribbling on it. "And a lotta cars." He says thoughtfully. "And a kutte." He announces, struggling to pronounce it. Gemma raises an eyebrow.

"A kutte?" She says, surprised.

"Yeah." Jax says, focused on his art. "Daddy loves his." is his explanation. Gemma smiles and waits for John to come home. When he does, she kisses his cheek and serves him supper.

"Guess what your three year old asked for Christmas today." Gemma informs him and he puts down his beer and raises his eyebrow.

"Should I be worried?" He jokes and she smiles.

"He wants a 'arewee'." She says, pronouncing it like Jax had. "And a kutte." John's eyebrows rise.

"He really asked for that?" He asks, surprised.

"Yes." She confirms proudly and John laughs, looking at Jax play on the rug in the living room. "He's your son."

"My pride and joy." He says quietly, getting up and going to lie by Jax on the floor, playing with the cars. Gemma watches them, satisfied.

(-)

"Jackson Nathaniel Teller!" Gemma yells out the back door and moments later, the small figure of Jax crashes through the door, breathing heavily in his heavy winter coat. "I'm going shopping. You better tell me what you want for Christmas." She says pointedly.

"Um, a new bike, a baseball glove, a basketball hoop, and a Harley like dad's." He rattles off. "Can I go play now?" He asks impatiently.

"Sure, go." She says, smiling. He disappears back out the door. She turns to look at John, who is carefully reading over documents.

"I'm glad nothing's changed on his wish list." John says, amused. "No kutte this year though."

"I think that comes implied with the territory of him getting a Harley like his father's." Gemma says, kissing his cheek. "And you're in charge of getting him that, understand?"

"I'll find a mini one somewhere." He tells her and she rolls her eyes, heading out the door.

"Watch him!" She yells and John watches through the window as Jax and Opie play in the backyard.

(-)

"Jax, come here, sit." Gemma commands and Jax stops trying to sneak out the front door, sighing and resigning himself to sit at the counter. Gemma hands him a pencil and piece of paper. "Write your Christmas list."

"Mom, I'm ten now." He whines. "I don't need a Christmas list!"

"Fine, I'll just get you whatever I pick out." Gemma deadpans and he frowns, scribbling stuff down.

"Can I leave now?" He begs and Gemma sighs, waving a hand.

"Watch Tommy as the park!" She yells as the door slams. Sighing, she picks up the list and reads it over.

TV for my room, video games, boxing gloves, Nike shoes, a dirt bike, new skateboard, tool kit, and a leather jacket.

Oh, and a bike like dad's.

Smiling, Gemma folds up the list and tucks it into her pocket. She has a feeling that this will be something she treasures for the rest of her life.

* * *

 _Lyla with Ken and Ellie_

"Hey, thanks for coming over." Opie says gruffly.

"Of course, what's up?" Lyla asks, concerned.

"Club shit." Opie mutters and she nods, knowing not to push it. "I just don't have anyone to watch Ken and Ellie, I'm sorry to do this to you, but there's no one else." He says and she shakes her head.

"I don't mind at all." She promises, setting Piper down and touching Opie's arm. "Be safe, ok?" He looks into her concerned eyes and nods. She smiles and kisses his cheek.

"Kids, behave!" Opie yells then slams the door. Seconds later, the bike and its noise disappear down the street. Lyla stands in the living room, observing Ken and Ellie, Piper clinging to her leg.

"So, what do you guys wanna do?" She asks and they're both quiet, looking at her then each other.

"Ken has homework." Ellie announces.

"I do not." Ken says, shooting her a look.

"Yes you do and dad said you had to get it done." Ellie responds bossily, folding her arms.

"You have homework too!" He says heatedly.

"Ok, ok, ok." Lyla says, hushing to two of them. "How about we go into the kitchen, we all do homework, and I'll make you a snack plate?" She suggests and they look suspicious.

"What's a snack plate?" Ken asks with narrowed eyes. Lyla smiles, gesturing for them to grab the backpacks and sit at the kitchen table.

"When I was little, I liked too many snacks, I could never make up my mind about what I wanted." Lyla explains, nudging Ken with her toe when he begins to drag his feet. "So I would put all the snacks I wanted on a plate. That way I could have a bunch of different snacks, instead of just one."

"So we're just gonna have some snacks on a plate?" Ellie asks, sounding unenthusiastic about this prospect.

"There's a special twist to it, you just don't know it yet." She promises, setting Piper at the table with crayons and paper. He eagerly begins to scribble. "Now, what kind of snacks do you like?"

"Meat and crackers." Ken says instantly.

"Chips." Ellie responds.

"How about some fruit?" Lyla suggests and they both nod. "Ok, start your homework and I'll start the snack plate, ok?" They nod, leaning over their papers and picking up pencils.

"Um, Lyla?" Ken asks, as she's cutting up apples. "Do you know how to spell again?" She turns and smiles.

"Sure, but why don't you try to spell it?" She asks and he frowns, throwing his pencil down.

"I can't, I'm too stupid, I can't figure it out." He says, frustrated. Lyla sets the knife down and walks over.

"What's hard about it?" She asks soothingly.

"He gets all his A's and I's mixed up." Ellie informs her.

"Oh, that's easy." Lyla says, waving a hand. "We just need to make up a clever trick to remember it by."

"Like what?" Ken asks and she thinks about it for a second.

"What does again start with?" She asks.

"A." Ken says quickly.

"Ok and again means that something will happen a second time." Lyla says and Ken blinks, not sure where this is leading. "So if again starts with an A, a second A comes… Again." She explains.

"A-G-A-I-N." Ken spells slowly and she grins, holding her hand up for a high five. Grinning widely, he gives her one.

"See, super easy." She remarks, getting up and going back to cutting up the apples. "And now you'll always know how to spell again!"

"Can you do that for stuff in history?" Ellie asks, looking up at her hopefully and Lyla nods.

"Like what?" She questions, arranging the apples and opening the fridge door to grab grapes.

"Like I can't remember the names of the Great Lakes." Ellie says and Lyla smiles, placing the grapes on the plate.

"That's easy. There's a word that has all the first letters of the lakes." She tells Ellie. "It's homes."

"Homes?" Ellie asks and Lyla nods.

"Spell out homes on your paper." She instructs and Ellie writes the five letters and looks up at her expectantly. "Ok, now what are the great lakes you know?" She asks and Ellie leans over her paper.

"Superior, Michigan, Erie…" She mutters then stares at the H and the O. Lyla waits patiently, taking crackers out of the sleeve. "Huron!" She says suddenly, filling the H in.

"Good, good, all you have left is the O." Lyla praises.

"Um…" Ellie squeezes her eyes shut like she's trying to pry the answer from her brain. "Ontario!" She cries and Lyla claps.

"There you go, see all five lakes. All you have to do is remember homes and then you at least have the first letter of all the lakes." She tells Ellie, who looks impressed with the new trick. "Ok, who wants to see the finished snack plate?" She offers and Ken looks up, excited.

"Me!" He says, hopping off his chair and hurrying over. The three kids crowd around it eagerly, making noises of amazement when they figure out what the patterns make. The cheese makes a sunset, the crackers are trees, the meat is the ground, and the fruits make up the sky and birds in it.

"This is so cool!" Ellie says, looking at it in awe.

"If you all have your homework done, you can take it into the living room and eat it while you watch TV." She offers and Ken and Ellie scramble to give her their homework. She carries it into the living room then picks up the papers and inspects them.

"Can we watch Spongebob?" Ken asks and she nods, checking his spelling words over.

"How do you spell again?" She asks, handing him the remote.

"A-G-A-I-N!" He rattles off and she nods. Smiling, he turns the TV on and they settle in to watch the cartoon. Lyla, smiling, cleans up the kitchen and puts the homework neatly back in the backpacks, hanging them on the hooks beside the door. Then she stands in the doorway to the living room.

Ken and Piper are sitting next to each other, Piper's blond head leaning against Ken's arm. Ellie is curled up in the chair, watching tv and eating fruit. Smiling, Lyla sits down next to Piper. As the show wears on, Piper crawls into her lap and falls asleep. She begins to rub Ken's back in slow circles, itching it then rubbing it until he too is asleep.

Opie walks in, opening his mouth to say something but she hushes him, gesturing to the kids. He quiets, looking around at the clean kitchen, the neat backpacks, and three sleeping children. He smiles as Ken and Ellie shift in their sleep. Lyla reaches over and keeps rubbing Ken's back.

"How were they?" He whispers and she smiles.

"Good. Practiced spelling with Kenny and geography with Ellie. Made some snakes for them and watched some TV." She says and he nods, leaning down and picking up Ellie easily without her waking up. He disappears into her bedroom then does the same for Ken.

"You could stay here if you'd like." He offers quietly as she arranges Piper on the couch, tucking him in.

"Ok." She agrees, smiling.

* * *

 _3 women, 3 stories_

 **Rose**

Gemma creeps through the house, nervously looking left and right. She's on the lookout for her mother, who had left for book club and a sewing circle with the express order that Gemma be a good girl, stay in the house, and not bother her father. Gemma had broken all those rules but one.

The sun was so bright, shining through her bedroom window. Gemma had tried to be satisfied lying on the floor in the pool of warmth, but the trees looked so inviting, so green, with their sturdy branches and gentle swaying in the breeze. She had promised herself that she was only going to climb one, that she would just do one, and then come right back inside.

It is easy to sneak out when her father is watching her. All she has to do is tiptoe past the study where he writes his sermons, down the hallway, and out the door to the backyard. She stands in the glorious sunlight, letting her fair skin soak it up then goes dashing for the trees.

The rough bark gives her easy purchase for her feet and hands. She swings herself onto the lowest branch then reaches for the next one. She loves climbing the trees, seeing how high she can get, surveying not just their backyard but also the whole neighborhood, relishing her high vantage point. Breathless, she pulls herself higher than she's ever gone.

If this is her only tree, she might as well try her hardest, she rationalizes. She clings to the trunk when the breeze makes it sway, then determinedly climbs into the highest branches. She pauses to catch her breath, looking around in awe at how she can see everything from her. Then she reaches for the next branch, wondering if it will hold her weight.

It doesn't. With a loud snap, it breaks in her hands, and she is suddenly tumbling downward, too sudden for her to even scream. She tries to find something to slow her descent, wildly grasping for anything. Her hands catch a thin branch and she abruptly stops, her shoulders feeling like they're about to get ripped from their sockets. With a cry of pain, she automatically lets go.

She tumbles through the lower branches and lands hard on her back, knocking the wind from her lungs. For a couple seconds, things are black, and then she opens her eyes, gasping. The branches above her are moving in the breeze, as though Gemma hadn't gone crashing through them moments before. She blinks the tears away, not wanting to move.

Finally, she sits up. She catalogs her injuries briefly, trying to figure out if she's seriously injured. She's covered in scratches, but none are deep. She'll likely have bruises but those will fade over time. Her back is stiff but she can still move all her fingers and toes, so she knows she'll be all right.

The only problem is her dress. A light blue flowery print, it was one of Rose's favorites. Now, it has rips and tears everywhere. This isn't a stain that Gemma can hide, this is a ruined dress, and her mother will be furious with her.

Panicked, Gemma runs inside, past the study, into her bedroom, pulling the dress off and putting new clothes on, ones that hide the damage from her fall. She stares at the dress, unsure of what to do now. There's only one thing she can think of- dispose of the dress and lie to Rose when she asks why Gemma isn't wearing that blue dress anymore.

She is attempting to put the dress in the garbage bins when her mother pulls back up to the house. Gemma scurries for the house, but the damage is already done. Her mother walks in and with one look, freezes Gemma in her spot.

"What." Rose's words are pointed, like sharp knives. "Did you do now."

"Nothing." Gemma whispers and Rose drops her purse on the counter, making Gemma flinch. "I ripped my dress." She confesses.

"How."

"I fell out of the tree."

"The tree I forbid you from climbing?"

"Yes."

"Did you disturb your father?"

"No." Gemma's eyes are filling with tears. Her entire body aches and she knows her punishment will not include a kind mother's hug.

"Well at least you can listen to one of my rules. Go to your room. You're not getting supper tonight." Gemma, head down, walks to her room and sits on her bed, shaking. Finally, she can't hold back the tears and she hugs her pillow tightly, sobs wracking her body.

 **3rd grade math teacher**

3x3. 9. Next question. 5x9. 45. Next question. 1x0. 0. Next question. Sweating nervously, Gemma moves down the line of multiplication problems, hastily scratching out the numbers and trying not to second-guess herself. She knows there's not enough time for her to check her answers, look up, or even pause to figure out a harder problem. 60 problems in 60 seconds, that's the challenge. And Gemma mustn't lose.

"Pencils down." A sharp voice says and groaning, mere problems away the end, Gemma sets her pencil down and anxiously looks at her classmates, all who are as flushed and panicked as she is. "Exchange papers with the person next to you." Gemma reaches over and grabs the other paper. "Adam, read the first line of answers."

"14. 27. 6. 0. 32." He reads off and Gemma is following along, both correcting the paper in front of her and frantically trying to recall her own answers. She circles the mistakes and then hands the paper back, turning hers over with a sense of dread, Bracing herself, she checks the score in the upper right corner.

47/60. Her stomach sinks. That's not her best score and it likely won't be the best score in the class. She just prays that it's better than someone else. Anyone else. She furtively tries to look around and see her classmates' scores, but they're all hiding them.

"We've been studying multiplication for awhile now." Her teacher says, walking between the decks, ruler in hand. Occasionally she slaps it into her open palm and makes them all jump. "I expect some high scores. Raise your hand if you got better than a 35." All the hands in the room go up. "To be expected. A 40?" All the hands stay up, the students glancing around, wondering who will be the first to fall victim. "45?" Gemma stares at the 47, wishing with all her might that someone will lower a hand. "50?" Trembling, Gemma lowers her hand and so does a little girl with long blonde braids. Cindy. "What did you get Cindy?"

"49." She whispers, staring at Gemma in plain fear. Gemma wants to moan, but she clamps her mouth shut. Smiling coldly, her teacher walks over to inspect her paper and Gemma knows what's coming.

"47." She says quietly and Gemma grits her teeth, hating the shame that makes her cheeks flame. "Gemma, that means you got the worst score in the class." Well conditioned, Gemma extends her hands out and closes her eyes.

The ruler comes cracking down but Gemma keeps her tongue in check and doesn't cry out. That only ever makes it worse. She sits in silence and endures the punishment. It doesn't take long, though the pain lingers. She takes a deep breath to calm her tossing stomach. She glares at her teachers back as she turns, going back to teaching. Even fearless little Gemma doesn't dare say anything to the old woman and her ruler.

 **Fiona**

"We need you to cook dinner tonight." Clay announces, walking in. Gemma looks up from her book, surprised.

"I can round up some of the crow eaters." She responds, a crease between her eyebrows. "Why?"

"The Irish are coming." Clay informs her, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. She watches him, a little bewildered.

"And they can't find some bar like Irishmen do why?" She asks pointedly.

"Cause it's not just the normal Irish Gem." He says, sitting down at the table across from her. "It's the heads, the top guys. Jimmy O'Phelan and the rest of those Real IRA."

"Isn't he the guy that give Chibs the…" Gemma asks in alarm, miming two scars on her cheeks and Clay nods, sighing.

"That's the one." He says heavily.

"Well shit, what do I make?" Gemma asks, leaning back and staring at him.

"Something with potatoes, I'd assume."

She settles on a crockpot of meat, carrots, onions, and potatoes. Crow eaters bring various sides and she organizes them on the counter, bringing out the nice plates and glasses, making everything just so. The sound of Harleys alerts her to the men's arrival and they assume their positions. When Clay walks in, Gemma kisses his cheek and is introduced to all the men. After Jimmy comes a stately dark woman, her black hair with a single grey streak in it.

"Gemma Teller." Gemma says, extending her hand. The woman looks at it with something akin to contempt then looks at her.

"Fiona. Fiona Larkin." She says, shaking it and Gemma is taken aback. Chibs's Fiona? The one that he had to leave behind when he had been exiled, that Jimmy had taken from him? With one glance to the downturned face of Chibs, she has her answer. Fascinated, Gemma watches Fiona.

Every movement is that of a queen. Her ramrod straight back, her graceful gait, even the regal way she holds her head, sitting as though her chair is a throne. She gives the queen of Charming a run for her money.

"And the daughter, she's beautiful." Jimmy is bragging, clearly trying in incite Chibs, who's gone violently red.

"Smart too." Fiona says quietly, eating a carrot as though she is discussing the weather and not a heated family feud that stretches back years. "Strong in her faith." Chibs still isn't looking at her, but his color is returning to normal. Gemma admires her openly.

"Oh, don't worry about the dishes." Gemma says, when Fiona takes up at spot in front of the sink, dishrag in hand.

"I'll help." She says flatly and Gemma doesn't argue. The men disappear outside to smoke and talk business. Gemma and Fiona wash in silence, until Gemma can't keep her questions in anymore.

"You were married to Chibs?" She asks and Fiona doesn't even look at her, eyes fixed on the silhouettes of the men outside.

"Aye. Still am." She states and Gemma nearly drops a glass. Fiona glances at her. "I thought… Jimmy." Gemma stammers and a wicked smile curves up Fiona's mouth as she scrubs a plate.

"What's a better way to destroy a man than from the inside?" She suggests casually and Gemma looks at her in awe and a tiny bit of fear. She can't imagine living with a man, day in and day out, just waiting for a chance to take her revenge on him. Fiona has strength Gemma isn't even sure she could muster. When Jimmy walks back in and Fiona kisses his cheek, Gemma can't help but shiver.

* * *

 _What Op says to Lyla to get her to come back inside_

"Lyla!" He calls and she keeps her back to him, standing in the driveway with her arms wrapped around her slim torso. "Lyla." He says, a little quieter. "Please come back inside."

"Why?" She demands and he can tell by how high her voice is that she's holding back tears. "So I can keep getting called a slut and a whore?"

"They don't mean that." Opie protests and she finally turns, her eyes bright in the light from the garage.

"Yes they do!" She insists. "They do Op, they think I'm some slut because of what I do! It doesn't matter how many desserts I make or how many times I tuck the kids into bed. I could be the best mom and girlfriend in the entire world. They are never going to stop judging me."

"Ok, Gemma, she's best friends with Luann." Opie reminds her, slowly getting closer. "And Tara… Well it's not like she'd had good experiences with pornstars." That gets a watery chuckle from Lyla.

"I'm not trying to fuck Jax." She tells him and he smiles, enfolding her in a hug. She rests her head on his chest.

"I know." He says quietly. He avoids thinking about teenage Tara and Donna, sitting side by side at the diner, laughing at them. Collapsed and entangled on his couch, drunk and laughing. Play fighting in his kitchen early one morning, making breakfast and teasing each other. He doesn't want to tell Lyla that Tara hates her for more than just her job. And he doesn't dare.

"Is it crazy that I just want them to like me?" Lyla asks quietly and he is drawn out of the past to look down at her.

"No." He says quietly, remembering when Donna had asked the same thing about Gemma. "They're like family to me, of course you want their approval and friendship."

"Well, they hate me." Lyla says jokingly, wiping her damp cheeks.

"They don't." He promises, wiping the rest of her tears. "They're stressed, they hate change, and Gemma's just worried you have a better ass than her." Lyla pushes him with one hand but she's laughing again, which Opie takes as a good sign. "So please, come back inside? Please?" She takes a deep breath. "I want you there." He says quietly and she looks at him with wide eyes.

"Ok." She agrees, searching his face. "Ok, Op." She reaches down and takes his hand. He leads her back inside to the chaos.

 **AN:** A lot of Gemma and Lyla this chapter (guess who my favs are). Please review, tell me who you want to see more of, what time you'd like to see more of, anything at all. Or just tell me how you liked this chapter! Thanks for reading!


	22. Season 2- Fa Guan

Episode 9- Fa Guan

 _Why Lyla falls for Opie_

She's always liked broken things. When she was little, she once spent an entire afternoon trying to piece back together a shattered vase, mindful of the sharp edges. She had tried to fit to jigsaw-like shards together, carefully holding them up and letting them catch the light before lining them with glue and gently pressing them into place.

The vase, of course, was shattered beyond repair. It would never hold water for flowers again. It would always lose it, slowly but steadily. Her mother had accepted it with an absentminded thanks and stowed it away at the back of the cupboards. However, Lyla had always liked it, with its spider web cracks that reflected a ray of light back tenfold.

She knows the same concept applies to Opie. She falls for him because he's broken and she wants to fix him. At least, that's what her mother and the rest of the girls at the studio tell her. She keeps her mouth shut to stop any remarks that they aren't ones to talk and carries on.

It's not just because he's broken, though the tortured look in his eyes initially drew her towards him. It's not because he's in a thousand pieces and every kiss and hug and smile is her attempt to glue those pieces back into the form of a man. It's not even because she's fascinated but wary of his sharp edges.

It was the way the light got into him. How even then, even with his overwhelming grief that was so apparent, she still saw the love and the life there. It's rare, fleeting, and she's still not quite sure if it will ever overpower the dark, but it's there and that's enough.

He loves his kids. He loves his club. He loves his bike and his brothers. She can see that, in the moments where he lets himself be free and unburdened. It's usually so brief she blinks and it's gone, but it's enough. It's there.

She hopes that light will fall on her, eventually. She hopes that one day he'll look at her and the light will suddenly be magnified like it is when Ellie hugs him goodnight or Ken excitedly clambers onto his bike. That's what she's trying to do. She doesn't want to fix him. She doesn't want to make him whole again. She just wants to make him smile.

People are always a little more beautiful when they're broken anyways.

* * *

 _Why Jax doesn't fear death_

Jax is no stranger to death. Jax doesn't fear the Spector of darkness that hovers over them at all time; he embraces it. Mr. Mayhem doesn't scare him because he knows the day will come where he will meet him. He doesn't know if there's an afterlife or heaven. All he knows is that wherever he goes, Tommy will be waiting for him with his smile and open arms.

Maybe that's why he was so fearless as a child. It was evident from his many doctor visits and his protective mother's concern that his heart would always be his problem, and the more Gemma fretted, the more Jax rebelled.

At 3, he clambered through the shop and nearly crushed himself beneath an elevated car. At 5, he fell out of a tree and cracked his skull. At 7 he attempted to jump off the playground and rolled his ankle. Tommy's death did nothing to stop Jax's mad fearlessness- if anything it heightened it.

At 14, he stole a dirt bike and tried to jump it, landing in a heap of metal and walking away with a couple cuts and a sense of invulnerability. At 16 his bike only went under 100 miles per hour when Tara is on the back. At 17 he picked fights with the biggest, drunkest men in the bar, learning to dodge knives and guns just as fast as punches.

At 19, when Tara leaves him, his only sense of self-preservation flies out the window. Gemma pleads with Opie to bring him back from the edge and Opie confesses that he has no idea how. Everything that Gemma has ever wanted- Jax in the club, Jax moving up the ranks, Jax making a name for himself- flies out the window when she sees him strap on the knife every day and pull the kutte over his back and she wonders if today will be the day he doesn't come back.

There is a wild, savage pleasure that Jax takes in stepping up to Death's line and looking into the abyss and coming back from it. Is it because he's defying what his little brother and father could not? Or because there's nothing on this earthly word that tethers him so tightly he's scared of never returning?

He knows he should fear death. What will happen to Abel, to Tara, to his mother, if he is to die? He knows they would be distraught, but they will live through it. Tara or Gemma will raise Abel. He will always know love from the club. Gemma will mourn the loss of her prince hard, but she would understand. The Teller boys don't fear death, they embrace it.

That's the thought that runs through his head every time he stares down the barrel of a gun, escapes a headlock, squeals around corners, crouching behind shelter in a shootout, hangs to the side of a careening car on two wheels. He isn't scared, he's alive and on fire.

It's odd, that he only ever really feels alive when he's so close to death. He knows some would call him the adrenaline junkie, chalk it up to the chemicals that flood his brain and trigger the fight reaction. But it's not that, it's far more different than some roller coaster-like thrill.

It's him, his body, every cell tingling and dancing, it's all his senses sharpened to an inhuman level. He knows what to do before he even thinks about it. His body moves of it's own accord, keeping him safe and whole. He is a breath away from seeing his family again, his whole family, not the fragmented bits that are scattered all over the country.

All his brothers, not just Tommy. The uncles he grew up with that have died, the brothers in other clubs who's caskets he's escorted to rest, even the grandparents on one side that never knew their grandson. Some many have gone before him and he knows they'll be there to lead the way for him.

He's not quite sure what this attitude makes him. Crazy? Suicidal? Or just a normal outlaw, living life on the fringe. His job comes with the hazard of death and that is just something he lives with. He has learned not to fear it, not to be timid of it, but to know that it is there, it will never change, and that all he can do is live until Mr. Mayhem comes to retrieve another Teller.

* * *

 _The unspoken rules and clauses_

 **84\. Never touch another man's bike**

A general rule, stating that, like old ladies, you may look but you may certainly not touch. Whether the bike is a vintage classic, a decked out new school with all the bells and whistles, or a shit heap, if not the owner, don't touch the damn thing. Punishable by: a punch to the jaw, possibly more if any sort of damage has been done.

 **11\. Tapping the head for cops ahead**

Not so much a rule or clause as common curtsey. Cops love to pull over bikers and relish pulling over entire biking gangs. To signal for cops ahead, simply tap your head or helmet to alert passerby's of the danger ahead. Punishable by: extensive name-calling, disgust, and a general label of asshole.

 **67\. The ex-girlfriend clause**

Ex-girlfriends are generally off limits for brothers, unless a strict set of standards have been met. Either the brother in question has expressed permission and acceptance for the relationship, be it sexual or otherwise to continue. If the relationship has been over for ten years, it is also acceptable. Only girls that had the title of girlfriend fall under this clause. (ie, one night stands will not.) Punishable by: A kick to the balls and a number of punches based on how serious the relationship was.

 **109\. Respect the kutte that respects you**

There are always clubs that will get along. Similar values, locations, interests, whatever. Certain clubs, whether it's because of history, personal friendships between presidents and leaders, or just bonding over beers at a rally, have great friendships. That being said, there is also a flip side- almost to the extreme. From rivalry over lands, members, or even girls to a deep hatred, no club is on good terms with everyone. It's important to know friends from enemies. Watch your friends' backs and they'll watch yours. Know alliances and treat them with the proper amount of reverence. Punishable by: ostracizing, losing allies, and if a prospect, a reason for not patching in.

 **23\. The tattoo clause**

It's a tale as old as time- drunken night, brothers talking shit, someone winds up with a tattoo gun in hand, and the next morning the worry of infection is topped only be the deep regret of having a poorly drawn cat's face forever stamped upon your ass. The only logical fix would be to let them tattoo whatever they want on you right back. Punishable by: if the tattoo is really awful, they get to do whatever they want. If you back out, there's name calling, a punch to the gut, and the fear of ever getting blackout drunk with them again.

* * *

 _What Opie keeps of Donna's_

He stands in their bedroom, looking around, at an absolute loss. His bedroom. It's only his anymore. Not theirs. But still, mementos of Donna litter the room. He can't decide what's more painful, looking around and seeing them every day or packing them up and shutting them away like she was never here.

He sits heavily on the bed, looking around and trying to figure out what isn't his, what is Donna's. He's not even sure if anything is his. Donna was the one who had filled their home with furniture, trinkets, and love. It's emptier now that she's gone; empty in ways he can't quite explain.

Heaving a sigh, he gets up and promises himself to at least look through one thing. One thing today, that's all. He decides to start with the bookshelf. Donna was always a reader before they had kids. She could rush through one in under a week, then would spend the next couple days talking about it, pondering theories and character development. But she had hardly ever read since having kids. That will be a good starting point, to see if he can lessen his grief.

For a while, it works. The books are cheap paperbacks and he feels like he can breathe again, as more books are pilled into a box. Gently, he sets asides the ones she had always loved, regardless of age- The Secret Garden, Little Women, and The Prisoner of Zenda. The he finds their yearbook, tucked under a pile of mystery books. Shaking hands open it.

It's odd, seeming them encased forever in time in the photos and notes they've written next to each other. Donna has scribbled next to a photo of them sitting outside during lunch and laughing- 'I'm so sure we ditched after that!' His trembling lips turn up into a smile at the sight of her beautiful, young face, forever in a laugh. He gently marks the page and sets it aside.

Atop the bookshelf are more knickknacks of Donna's. A stone angel, wings flowing down her back, face turned upwards. Opie remembers her explaining why she loved it to him, long ago.

"I thought you hated angels." He says, wiping his sawdust covered hands on his dirty jeans. Donna, who's setting the angel atop the newly constructed shelf, looks over her shoulder and smiles.

"My dad gave me this one." She reveals.

"Even more reason for you to hate it then." Opie comments and Donna rolls her eyes, putting books in their place.

"My dad didn't give me this one with a lecture about the devil trying to take over the world through modern technology." She explains. "I was little and he said there were always angels watching over me and that they would protect me from everything."

His fist closes around the stone angel and for one wild second, he wants to throw it and shatter it, yelling that angels didn't protect his wife from the evils of his life, but then he blinks and sets it next to his pillow. He can't bear to destroy anything that she had loved.

As he turns to leave the room, unable to bear thinking about her from another moment, something catches his eye. Tucked underneath her jewelry box is a large pile of what appears to be scraps of paper. Frowning, he gingerly lifts the box up and pulls the notes out, reading them individually.

 _'Don't forget to change my oil please! I love you!'_

 _'I left money on the counter- can we get Girl Scout cookies?'_

 _'Leftovers are in fridge, I'll be back tomorrow afternoon! I love you.'_

 _'With Jax and the club. Leave a key under the mat. I'll be home as soon as I can. I love you.'_

 _'Can you fix the TV?'_

 _'Called the plumber, he'll be here tomorrow at 2. Have a good day!'_

 _'I love you, I love you, I love you!'_

 _'Ellie has a doctor's visit at 9:30- my mom can't take her so I need you to.'_

 _'Beautiful wife, call me when you're home. I'll be at the clubhouse.'_

 _'BABY FORMULA ASAP!'_

 _'Took baby to pool. Join us if you're home before supper. I love you!'_

 _'Baby, I'm sorry I had to leave. Please don't be angry with me. I'll be gone for a couple hours, tops. Then I promise to stay in and love you and the kids all day. See you in the morning. I love you.'_

He stares at the last one, the note he wrote her before prison. He had never came home. She's kept these notes they've written to each other, over the course of their marriage. The mundane, the normal, the ordinary. Tears fills his eyes once more and he rushes to put them away, then slams the door shut.

 **AN:** Ok more Jax and Tara coming up soon, I promise. (I kinda tap myself out with them writing my high school J/T story) Plus Gemma/Clay, Lyla, and some people we don't really see on screen a ton. Let me know what you think please!


	23. Season 2- Balm

**AN:** The return of Abel in this chapter! And a special thanks to Ang R, who overwhelmed me with comments and reviews- thank you, thank you, thank you. To everyone else that reviews so often, on this story and Prayer, thank you. It's always great to hear your feedback!

* * *

Episode 10- Balm

 _The start of SAMCRO_

The bar is in its golden hour. There's a haze of smoke that makes outlines blurry and faces hazy. It's full but not crowded. There's loud voices and louder laughter, but no yelling or fighting yet. The drinks are flowing while a TV blares some baseball score. All in all, it's home.

John Teller is sitting next to Piney Winston and Lenny Janowitz, the three of them splitting a pitcher of beer and arguing. The topic is the same as it has been for months. They can't find work. They can't get into college. They can't afford to buy houses. They miss Vietnam, the brotherhood they experienced from it. They need a plan.

They had reached the conclusion of an MC a while ago. Now they were onto names, colors, location, logistics. They had settled on blue, a reflection of their blue collared roots and attitudes. They already had their bikes and their small group. Names were being passed around, but there was one that kept floating up.

Sons of Anarchy. It had been John's idea, named after one of his favorite passages about an anarchical society. It seemed to envelope everything they wanted from their club. A new way of life. Their way of life.

"The Sons." He says loudly and the other two turn to look at him. "The Sons of Anarchy. We listen to no one. No one ordered us around, commands us to take the conventional road. We do as we please. We listen to one master and that's death at the hands of the road." He states.

"I can't think of anything better." Piney declares and Lenny is scratching onto a napkin a roughly outline of a kutte, 'Sons of Anarchy' across the top and 'California' across the bottom. In between, he draws a boney skeleton holding out a grenade, sans pin.

"It's a rough draft. We'll figure it out." He offers and John smiles, holding up the napkin so the light from the bar shines in.

"We'll figure it all out." He corrects and they raise their glasses to that.

* * *

 _"We're not going to die bloody." The future of the MC_

"Where the fuck are you?" Piper is demanding through Abel's phone. "We've got church in twenty minutes!"

"I'm working on it." Abel says lazily, rolling over and smiling at the blonde in his bed. Willow peeks up over the covers.

"Is that my brother? Do you have church?" She demands and he shushes her, easily staving off her attempts to grab the phone.

"I'll be there soon." He says smoothly.

"Are you with my sister?" Piper demands and Abel hangs up on him. Willow looks at him reproachfully.

"Why are you having church?" She asks pointedly and he stands up, swinging on his kutte and tucking a gun in the waistband of his jeans.

"We're going to vote in the prospects." He informs her and she smiles, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"Good." She announces. "I like all of them."

"I'll be sure to factor your opinion into my vote." He says, a twinge of mocking and anger makes her face go red.

"I'm just as much SOA as you, Abel Teller!" She says hotly and he smiles, bending down to kiss her.

"I'm aware, Willow Winston-Teller." He says sweetly and she smiles, flopping back down against the pillows.

"Tell everyone hi!" She calls as he leaves. He gets on his bike and rides for the clubhouse, nodding as he passes people he knows. He contemplates detouring past the cemetery where his father is laid to rest, just to check in, but staying in bed with Willow so long means he doesn't have time, so he vows to do it later. He arrives at the clubhouse with minutes to spare, walking in.

"Thought you were going to miss it." Piper comments as Ken hands him a beer. The three prospects are huddling nervously in the corner and Abel smiles, popping the top off.

"Not for the world, brother." He assures him. "Quinn, you ready?" He asks the older man and he nods. "Rat coming?"

"He's already at the table." T.O. tells them, grabbing his own beer as he walks in. "Happy, everyone. We're ready."

"Well, then, not lets keep them from their fate any longer." Abel decides and whistles. "Prospects! Lets go!" Anxiously, they file into church. Abel takes his place at the table, glancing around. The club hasn't changed much since his arrival to Charming, but the differences are there.

Montez transferred to Arizona's charter to be closer to his daughters. Abel missed the dark man's sly humor. Bowen is currently nomad, searching for answers he claims. Willow decides it's more searching for women. Tig had died the previous year. His death had hit everyone had, but hit Willow hardest. She had mourned him for months, inconsolable. Chibs had returned to Ireland, wanting to spend his last few years with his wife and daughter, as well as an apparently sprawling brood of grandchildren. His departure was another heavy blow to both the club and the hearts of everyone in it.

But the Sons are growing. Quinn wears the president patch with ease, making the hard calls. Rat is his right hand, Happy his sergeant. Piper, Ken, and Abel are the legacy boys, waiting to be joined by anxious offspring of Happy, Quinn, and Rat. In the meantime, three prospects await their fate, anxiously fidgeting in the corner, trying to look cool and failing.

"First up, Terrible Timmy." Quinn says, in his deep, measured voice and they all bang on the table, yelling. A thin man with electric blue eyes nervously steps up. "Your sponsor."

"Terrible Timmy has exhibited many qualities." Ken says slowly, enjoying the fact that Timmy is sweating. "First and foremost, a complete and utter fearlessness of approaching any chick, no matter the size of the man she came with. Though I undoubtedly will regret dealing with his terrible pickup lines… He deserves to be SAMCRO."

"All in favor, aye?" Quinn asks and every hand goes up. "Then welcome, brother." He says and the table erupts into cheers as color floods back into Tim's face and he is enveloped in hugs. Shaking, he pulls out a chair at the table and sits down, staring in disbelief at his patch. "Next, Little Devil." The short, shaven man with flame tattoos encasing his arms looks up. "Your sponsor."

"There are many things that can be said about Dev." Rat says thoughtfully. "You could talk about his nasty taco farts that leave even those with iron guts dry heaving. Or his dogs, which he will marry as soon as it becomes legal. Or even his passionate love of piss murals on bar walls. But there's one thing I'd like to say about him." His tone grows serious as he stares down the prospect. "He embodies the love of SAMCRO that we should all have. No one deserves that rocker more than the Devil." Quinn's call for vote isn't even heard as more hollering breaks out as he accepts his patches and sits beside Happy, who punches him in the arm.

"And finally, Patty." Quinn says, looking at the only remaining prospect, a slim, ginger man, who is gripping the lapels of his prospect kutte so firmly he might rip them off. "Your sponsor."

"Patty McFucker." Abel says solemnly, leaning forward and clasping his hands. "Take off that kutte." Patty doesn't dare protest, even though it looks like he wants to. Instead, he removes it and lays it on the table, smoothing it out. "You take a long look at that kutte." Abel orders and Patty doesn't raise his eyes to anyone in the room. "Because you will never put it on again." Patty looks to Abel in disbelief, looking ready to start shouting. "You'll never wear a prospect patch again, brother." He says, grinning and Patty looks like he's shit his pants.

"Aye!" Quinn bellows and it's chorused around the room. Patty too receives his patches gratefully, sitting in his empty seat.

"You had me going man." He confesses to Abel when the din dies down. Abel grins, taking a swig of beer.

"You were all going to get patched in, Willow likes you." He says good-naturedly and they all laugh, carrying on club business. Abel looks around and smiles at the sight of his growing, thriving club.

* * *

 _"You want that phone call telling you where to pick up the body?" AU where Jax does go Nomad_

"I love you, I love you, I love you…" Tara coos to Abel and he's unstable on his feet, grasping her fingers and looking around curiously. "You're going to walk today, mama can feel it in her heart…" She sings and smiles brightly when Abel looks up at her. "C'mon, little boy…"

Gently, she tugs her fingers from him and he remains upright, blinking. Tara carefully scoots back. Abel watches her, his little face scrunched up. Tara claps her hands and carefully, anticipating him falling back on his butt, reaches out for him. He gives her a gummy smile and then picks his feet up and, without hesitation, walks for her.

"Abel!" Tara cries and he falls into her arms. "Abel! Abel, you're walking!" She hugs him close and tears fall down her cheeks. "Abel, you're walking!" He smiles again and she squeezes him close, rushing for the phone. She wants to call Jax, to tell him that his son has taken his first steps, but she knows there's no point. So instead she dials Gemma.

"Tara, what's wrong?" Gemma demands instantly and Tara is chocking back tears as she exclaims,

"Abel! He took his first steps!"

"What?" Gemma yelps and Tara nods, even though Gemma can't see her.

"Yeah, he's been balancing a lot lately and today I just decided to let him try to walk himself and well, he did! Like four wholes steps!" She describes and she hears Gemma crying on the other end.

"Oh, I missed it." She sobs. "I missed it, how could I?"

"Come over after work, I'm sure he'll want to show off his new skills for his grandma." Tara offers and Gemma sniffles.

"Clay! Clay!" She's yelling. "Abel took his first steps!"

"Go tell the rest of the guys." Tara says, looking affectionately at the boy in her arms, who is playing with her necklaces.

"Have you told Jax?" Gemma asks and Tara sighs, setting Abel down as the familiar swooping feeling settles in her stomach.

"No, I haven't been able to reach him for a couple days. He must've switched burner cells." She mutters and she can about imagine Gemma's pursed lips. "He'll call soon though, he usually does."

"He should be there for Abel's first steps." Gemma declares and Tara knows better than to strike up this old argument.

"We talked about him coming home for Abel's first birthday." She reveals, hoping that will take Gemma's mind off her wandering son.

"He better." She threatens. "Thanks for calling Tara, but I gotta go see what's going on in the shop. I'll be over right after work to see my grandson."

"We look forward to it." Tara says, smiling as Abel pulls himself up on the couch. "Bye Gemma." She hangs up the phone and tosses it on the couch, flopping down and beaming at Abel. Minutes later, it rings again and she picks it up without a second thought, assuming it's Gemma calling back. "Hello!"

"Is this the residence of Jackson Teller?" A deep voice asks and she sits straight up, clutching Abel to her automatically.

"It is." She confirms in a trembling voice. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Ma'am, my name is Officer Grant Tovar, from the Iron Country Sheriffs Office." He says. "What's your name and relation to Jackson Teller?"

"I'm Dr. Tara Knowles and I'm his girlfriend." She tells him. Abel is fussing and squirming in her arms but she doesn't take notice. A sweeping feeling of numbness is enveloping her. She knows what's coming and she's not ready. "Why are you calling?"

"Ma'am, we've identified a 2003 Harley-Davidson Dyna Super Glide Sport belonging to Jackson Teller."

"You identified it, what does that mean? Was it stolen?" She demands and there's a long pause on the other end of the line, delaying for a moment what Tara doesn't want him to say.

"No ma'am. The bike was involved in a crash. The driver of the bike has been killed. We'd like someone to come down and identify the body as Jackson Teller." He says slowly and her mind is completely blank, not registering the white knuckled grip she has on the phone or whimpering Abel.

"The body." She repeats.

"Yes, it was damaged in the crash." He explains.

"The crash." She echoes.

"Yes, there was a crash on county road…" She tunes him out as he talks, hearing on bits and pieces of it- 'Deliberate', 'Suspects', 'Fire', and so on.

"But his son took his first steps today." Tara blurts out, wondering if that will somehow make the universe reverse itself and this phone call will be nothing more than a joke.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry." He says and he seems like he genuinely means it. "Is there someone else I can call, talk to?"

"His mom, his mom… She… She has to… I need to tell her." Tara is muttering, her eyes glazed over and unfocused.

"Ok, I'm going to give you the address and my number if you have any questions, ok?" He says and mechanically Tara scribbles down the numbers that he lists off. "Please call me and let me know." He asks and she whimpers, hanging up the phone. Abel is looking at her in confusion.

All Tara can think about is getting to the shop. To Gemma. She'll know what to do. This will all be a joke. Jax is messing with her. Maybe he'll surprise her at the shop. She buckles Abel into his car seat and drives to the shop completely out of habit. She doesn't truly comprehend what's happening until she parks and gets out, holding Abel to her chest like he's the last anchor on this world.

"Did you come to see grandma to show her how you can walk?" Gemma asks, exiting the office with a huge smile on her face, extending her arms to Abel. Tara doesn't relinquish him and when Gemma looks up, concern crosses her face at the glossy eyed expression of Tara.

"Jax… I have to go… Identify his… Body." Tara says haltingly and Gemma slumps to the ground, making the guys in the shop shout and rush for her. The sight of Gemma on the ground makes Tara realize this is no joke and a wail escapes her. Strong hands catch her and Abel as she too crumples, both women keening their grief for the lost Son.

* * *

 _JT and Gemma_

"Nice bike." A sly voice says and John Teller is drawn out of his musing on the violence of his life, looking up to see who is talking to him. It's a thin woman, with long dark hair, thickly lined eyes, a tattoo on her perky boobs, and a long, thin scar down her chest. She's got a taunt stomach and long legs, red lips and a smirk on them.

"Thanks." He says, straightening up and putting out his cigarette. She takes a step closer so she can admire it. "Know a lot about bikes?" He asks curiously and she looks up with a wicked smile.

"Know more about bikers." She quips and he grins. "Know enough to see that this one is a beauty."

"Take one to know one." He compliments and she looks at him, smiling. "John Teller."

"I know who you are." She states then adds when he looks unsure, "I grew up in Charming. Gemma Madock." She says, extending her hand.

"Nice to meet you." He says, shaking it and admiring her when she bends down to get a better view on the details on the gas tank.

"Likewise." She says, winking at him. "You're the president of SAMCRO?"

"Ah, that depends." He says slowly, lighting another cigarette. He offers her one and lights it for her, noticing when she leans in just how low cut her shirt really is. "Who's asking?"

"I'm not one of those people that hate the club." Gemma assures him but he's frowning, mulling something over.

"Madock… Madock… Why does that sound familiar?" He asks her.

"My daddy Nate is a pastor." She informs him and he looks at her in disbelief. She shrugs, puffing on her cigarette.

"And he's not going to come back here and drag you away because…" He trails off and she takes a long inhale, then puffs the smoke out.

"Because I'm a big girl." She tells him smugly.

"A little pastor's daughter gone wild?" John teases, looking at her in admiration and she laughs, throwing her head back.

"Something like that." She says mysteriously.

"Well, I was just going inside to get a drink, want to join me?" He offers and she looks at the seedy bar, a pouting lip forming.

"Oh, but it's so crowded." She mutters, eyes downcast and he smirks, guessing where this is going.

"My place has better beer and less people." He tells her and she bites her lip, looking at him from under her eyelashes. He rights the bike and she's on the back in a flash. He revs the engine and grins, heading for home.

* * *

 _What they gave up to be patched in_

You don't have to be rich to join SAMCRO. Nor smart. Nor handsome or connected or smooth or educated. You only have to have one thing- loyalty. A complete and total devotion to your club and those in it. Nothing more, nothing less. If you have that, you can prospect.

Prospecting is just the tip of the iceberg. There's loyalty and then there's the willingness to let go of everything in your old life, to be here. For some, that's easy. For others, it's leaving behind their whole world.

Clay didn't have much to leave. Everything after Vietnam was dull and unimportant. All he craved was the brotherhood of the club and a place to belong. Leaving behind his friends and family was easy. He had a new one waiting for him.

Tig had never had close connections to anyone else. It was easy and simple to devote himself to club. He did it without hesitation. Then came his twin girls, but he never missed a beat. They were second to the club. They knew it. He knew it. Their mother knew it and when she packed them up, she was aware he was never going to follow them.

Bobby wanted to do right by his kids. He wanted to love them and be a good father. His dad had been all right, in his own twisted way. But that's not possible with SAMCRO. Visits were far and few, then tapered off eventually. He didn't have time; he was on runs or dealing with next complication. There's enough time to love one thing and it's not his family.

Chibs didn't have a choice to leave behind all he loved. That decision was made for him, but oddly, it's not one he resents. It could've been worse. SAMCRO demands an obsessive focus that he could push his longing aside long enough to get a drink and forget.

Juice was the most willing to give up it all. He wanted to, he looked forward to it. He relished his new family. He accepted their love and demands. He never looked back. SAMCRO was his everything and he would treat it as such for the rest of his life. Family isn't always the blood you share together but perhaps the blood you shed together.

As for Jax and Opie, what's there to give up when SAMCRO has always been their everything?

* * *

 _Gemma's rape/reactions_

She knows now is the time to tell them. Nothing else will unite them. The only way to protect Jax, to prevent him from going nomad, is to tell them her deepest secret. So she calls them home and decides it's time to make a queen's decree. She has no time for Jax and Clay's games.

"Sit down, both of you." She orders, before Jax or Clay can swing at each other. "You too sweetheart." She instructs Tara, who look likes she's going to use coffee as an excuse to walk away. "Sit. You know what it is I have to tell them." She says heavily and Tara is stunned.

Now? Now Gemma is going to tell them about her awful assault? Why she's been skittish and spooked for weeks? Tara watches Gemma and is stunned to realize she understands Gemma's actions. She cannot bear to have her family ripped apart. A common enemy, that will unify Jax and Clay, set them on the right path. Gemma isn't doing this for her. She is doing it for them.

"What is this?" Clay asks. He's angry, he's confused, and mostly, he's disgusted by the sight of brazen Jax. He wants him gone, even if it'll break Gemma's heart. What could Tara possibly know that he doesn't?

Jax looks to Tara, hoping she'll give him answers, but she's watching Gemma, a carefully concealed expression on her face. That only makes Jax more nervous. His mother and girlfriend have never gotten along. Only something awful would've turned Gemma to her, rather than anyone else.

"The night… Of Bobby's party…" She begins, trying to stop her voice from shaking. Her eyes dart towards Clay and she continues with the story, trying to steady herself. How will he want her after this? How could he love her after this? He will cast her aside, used and discarded. But that will be worth it, if Jax stays. So she keeps telling them to story of that night.

Clay listens silently, trying to piece together what he thought happened with what Gemma is telling them. She was attacked? Zobelle? He watches her sadly, knowing in his gut what she will tell them. It only makes sense; her distance, her flinching, her pain… He watches his beautiful wife and the only thing he can think about is his deep sadness that never did she think she could confide in him.

Tara listens as Gemma repeats the story; looking down, then between the men, then back down. She tells the story slowly but steadily, not embellishing nor leaving out details, just describing her attack to her husband and son. She quietly commends Gemma's strength and her skill, to keep this secret until it could be best used.

Jax listens in horror, any anger at Clay evaporating to be replaced by hatred for Zobelle and the rest. His mother, taken, beaten, raped. How dare they. He feels the fury rising, the desire to fling his chest open and take everyone around him down in a red tinged rage. He feels his face twitch, wanting to snarl but he fights to keep it together. His mother deserves that.

She approaches the hardest part of the story, wanting to keep her strength to look at Clay, to show him that despite this, she is still the same strong Gemma, his same queen. That she took her lashing for the clubs and held up under them. That she would never betray him or the club. She looks to Tara for support.

All Tara can do is nod. Nod that this is the right thing, this will keep their family whole. Gemma is sacrificing so much in this moment. Tara wonders if she will ever be able to do what Gemma does, place her family before everything, even her own wellbeing. Gemma seemingly takes comfort in her quiet encouragement and finally confesses.

Clay wants to cry. He hardly cries. But the vision of Gemma, his strong queen, his most faithful partner and constant companion, suffering all on his behalf, alone, because she thought it was right… He wants to ride, to shoot, to cry, to hold her, to go mad and scream. But he just slumps, guilt-ridden that the one person he vowed to always protect had bore such a burden.

Her words, confirming what Jax had expected, sends red-hot fire coursing through his veins. Despite his fury with the club, with Clay, whoever, all that is second to the thought of vengeance for his mother. For Chibs and Otto and everyone else the League had hurt. He smacks the table, unsure that if he doesn't vent his rage in some way, he won't go out with guns blazing.

Then he sees his mother's face. She's watching him with understanding and he wants nothing more than to ask forgiveness, seek repentance, and make her see that he understands now that nothing, nothing is more important than family. So he gets up, takes her hands, and holds them to his wet eyes, trying to convey everything he wants to in this gesture. From her trembling lips, he knows it works.

Jax places his hand on Clay's shoulder and he knows in this moment, all of his anger towards his son is gone. They are not important. Gemma is important. Whatever she needs, whatever her wishes are, they will follow them. She deserves so much more. He grasps Jax's hand. They'll be better.

Gemma raises her face to Tara's and Tara wants to say so much. Thank you. I understand. You kept him here. You did what I couldn't. You are strong and brave. I understand you. Thank you. But she smiles and knows that for once, maybe for the first time, she and Gemma truly understand one another.

Clay reaches out and grabs her face. It's a balm to Gemma like nothing Tara's ever given her. He's still here. He still wants her. His rough palms gently cradle her face, bringing it towards his and she hasn't felt such tenderness and adoration in a long time. He rubs her face and in that moment, there's no need for words. Love flows from him to her and back again and she knows, finally, for the first time in weeks, that things are ok.

 **AN:** Whoo, long chapter! There's more Clay/Gemma and Tara/Jax coming, I promise! (And for anyone that likes teenage J/T, A Prayer for SAMCRO has plenty of it, hint hint) Please let me know what you think, thanks for reading!


	24. Season 2- Service

Episode 11- Service

 _The kids of SAMCRO- Growing up guns_

"Guys!" Brooke yells over the chaos of kids screaming at each other. "GUYS, SHUT UP!" The noise momentarily subsides as dirty faces turn theirs to hers. She takes a deep breath to avoid losing her shit.

"Need help?" An amused voice asks and Brooke looks gratefully at Jaycee, who, despite having brought more children, at least is two more hands to help with supper.

"All the kids, outside." Brooke orders and there's a mad dash, with yells about who gets scooters and who's going to play on the swings.

"Little bit busy?" Jaycee teases, turning on the oven. Brooke snorts, elbow deep in potato peelings.

"All the other girls said they'd be here by like 4, and it's now…" She checks the clock. "4:45 and you're the first to show."

"What time are the guys getting here?" Jaycee asks, mildly alarmed.

"Hopefully not till like 7." Brooke says thankfully and Jaycee lets all her breath out in a whoosh. "At least, that's when I think the other charters should be here by. So really, any time."

"And we have all this to make." Jaycee says, looking around the kitchen with trepidation. Brooke smiles brightly.

"At least the kids are out of our way."

"I want to swing!" Kalli is whining and Rang is looking down at his little sister, unperturbed, lounging on the swing. The other boys, Ryder and Zane, both are watching, leaning against the swing set. Autumn is watching her best friend Kalli with wide eyes.

"You can't. I'm here." He states simply and she stomps her small feet. "So go play with your dolls." He sneers.

"I don't wanna play with my dolls, I wanna swing!" She protests hotly and he shrugs, kicking up dust as he drags his heels.

"Sorry." He says, clearly not. With a cry of fury, she launches herself at him, disregarding the fact that she's years younger and feet shorter. She aims for every bit of open skin she can find, pummeling him with her little fists.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" She wailing and he shoves her off him, panting. She struggles to get close enough to continue hitting him.

"Kalli, stop being a spaz!" He orders then shoves her hard again, so she stumbles back and sprawls on her back. "Have the swing then you brat!" For a moment, Kalli just watches her with wide eyes, then bursts into tears.

"You made her cry!" Ryder says, glancing over his shoulder at the house furtively. "The moms are gonna be made!"

"Kalli, stop crying." Rang commands, kneeling next to her. "Stop crying, I didn't even push you." Still bawling, Kalli gets up and runs with Autumn back to the house. The boys watch them go silently.

"We're in so much trouble." Zane observes as Rang and Ryder cringe as they hear Kalli's yelling.

"AND HE PUSHED ME INTO THE DIRT!" Kalli finishes her story and resumes sobbing. Brooke, kneeling on the floor in front of her daughter, shares an exasperated look with Jaycee.

"Ok, how about when Daddy comes home, he can ground Rang, ok?" Brooke offers and Kalli immediately stops crying to nod. Even at her young age, she knows any punishment her father levels will be much worse than her mothers.

As Kalli and Autumn run to play, more crow eaters arrive, bringing with them food and kids. The noise level does nothing but grow, as babies wail and toddlers yell. Brooke presides over the chaos as best she can and finally, the men arrive and she gives up completely.

Family supper is always a messy affair. They spill from the kitchen to tables outside, half the men with babies on their laps and guns next to the potato salad. It seems to bother no one that a man with a knife longer than Kalli's forearm is bouncing her on his knee, listening intently as she blabbers on about why she thinks she should get a pony.

Most of the men clear 6 feet with ease. Almost all of them are covered in a unique pattern of tattoos and piercings and scars, but no one seems bothered by it. Their gruff faces soften slightly at the kids and their laughter. One man, with a kutte and what seems to be a large bloodstain on his pant leg is crawling through the dirt, trying in vain to reach a ball that has rolled under a shed.

To the kids that grow up SAMCRO, this is their normal. They've never been scared of bikers that rumble down streets. They've never flinched at the sight of guns or knives or violence. Sometimes Brooke and Jaycee worry that they're messing their kids up, allowing them to be exposed to this kind of lifestyle.

But at the end of the day, Kalli doesn't feel alarm at the sight of a man with tattoos, a beard, and spikey jewelry raising a gun. She just feels protection.

* * *

 _Tig doesn't fight back_

He doesn't raise a finger to protect himself. He doesn't want to. He wants to take this beating. He wants to feel it in his bones. Opie didn't remove his rings and the cold metal splits Tig's face open, but he welcomes it. He deserves this. He deserves this. And he takes it.

It was the mushrooms that did it. Donna swirled in his mind, close enough and real enough to touch. He apologized profusely, sobbing, trying to explain to her that this is who he is. That was what he had to do. He couldn't avoid it. He regrets it, so, so much. But he was under orders.

The guilt has been killing him. Eating him alive. This beating is nothing like the pain in his chest, wondering why he ever agreed to make that decision. Why can't he say no to Clay? Why does he follow him blindly? What is Jax is right? All the questions that run through his mind at night, maybe Opie's blows will silence them. He'll finally have quiet.

Pain has always been his friend. He has never feared it. And even as the blows keep raining down, as he feels Opie's anguish, he has hope. Hope that this will return to normal. That he will be ok. That somehow, by some miracle, when Opie stops, he will have earned forgiveness.

But this isn't Tig sleeping with Opie's little sister or scratching his bike. This isn't some stupid infraction of unspoken club rules. This isn't a drunken brawl over some imagined slight. This is murder. This is his wife. This is Tig's biggest mistake he's ever made.

Maybe Opie's fists will kill him. He never thought he'd go down without a fight, but the guilt weighs down his body and he accepts the blows without even sheltering himself from them. Death would be sweet. A release. From the pain, the guilt, the fear, the anger. Everything. Gone. Because that would be easier than staying here and facing Opie after this.

* * *

 _Can't kill Philippe. I've tried._

"Jimmy, why am I here?" Philippe demands, standing instantly where Jimmy and other Real IRA men enter the small room. Jimmy ignores him, polishing a watch that he then fastens around his wrist.

"We've gotta make this quick, I have a meeting with the Council in an hour." He says quietly to the man beside him then looks at Philippe, who looks angry and also bewildered.

"What's going on Jimmy?" He asks, looking at all the men gathered.

"Philippe." Jimmy says solemnly. "I think you know why you're here."

"No, that's why I'm asking." He says, sarcasm slipping into his tone. "So are you going to tell me?"

"Well, you see…" Jimmy says, sitting down and looking levelly at him. "The Council don't take kindly to us having a traitor in our midst."

"Me?" He demands in disbelief. "You think I'm the traitor?"

"Someone told the authorities about that neat little raid on our storehouse last week." Jimmy informs him and Philippe looks stunned.

"And you think it's me?" He asks, outraged. "I would never! I dedicated my life to this, I do everything for this!"

"Well, not everything." Jimmy says softly and he falls silent, looking at him. "Don't forget, you've done things like this before."

"Fiona was in danger!" He protests. "I didn't tell them any secrets! I was protecting my wife, she was pregnant with my daughter!"

"And at the time, I'm sure Fiona's family was very grateful that their son-in-law did such a thing, but now that our secrets are being told so loosely all over the city… Well, people are talking Philippe." He says, tracing patterns on the table and now Philippe looks nervous, starting to fidget.

"It wasn't me." He insists and Jimmy shrugs.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But the Council wants an example to be set. They will not tolerate traitors." He warns.

"Do they not tolerate the innocent either?" Philippe challenges.

"Better an innocent traitor suffer than a guilty one goes free." Jimmy shoots back and Philippe now looks properly frightened. "I've made up my mind Philippe. The Council has decided your loyalty no longer lies here, with us. Perhaps you should be free to seek it elsewhere."

"Fiona, she'll never leave. This is her life, her home. And my daughter, she loves it here." Philippe protests and a glint appears in Jimmy's eyes.

"You think you're taking them with you?" He hisses, leaning forward. "You think you're taking Fiona Larkin out of the Real IRA? Your banishment is from your home and them!"

"You can't!" Philippe is objecting but with a signal from Jimmy, the men descend and properly begin beating Philippe. Jimmy watches with a satisfied smile. When he's slumped in the corner, bloody and broken, Jimmy leans down in front of him, drawing two small knives.

"Liars and traitors should be marked." He whispers and from behind swelling eyes, Philippe watches the flash of the knives and feels the hot pain on his face. Jimmy straightens up, checking the watch on his wrist. "Dump him by the docks." He orders.

"Should we kill him?" One man asks and Jimmy shrugs.

"If he survives these injuries, the loss of his girls will kill him." He says confidently. "Now go, I'm meeting with the Council." As he heads for the long conference style room, he finishes wiping the blood from his hands.

"Jimmy." One man says seriously when he walks in. He nods to him then addresses the Council as a whole.

"The traitor has been taken care of." He reveals.

"And you're sure it was Philippe?" Another man asks skeptically.

"Without a doubt." Jimmy says smoothly.

"Well then I'm glad to hear it's been done." Another man says quietly. They dismiss him and Jimmy sets off towards a little townhouse. He has a visit to make to a certain Fiona.

* * *

 _When Tara starts getting along with Lyla_

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Tara curses, looking in desperation at the bottle that's lid has came unscrewed in the side pocket of the diaper bag, soaking it in milk. That has been her backup and Abel, wailing in his car seat, is in need of both a bottle and a diaper change and she doesn't know which he needs more. Then, suddenly, two hands scoop him up.

"I got it, don't worry." Lyla says cheerfully and Tara looks at her in surprise, unsure of where to go with this. "I have changed plenty of diapers." She assures her, grabbing the diaper bag. "Make him a bottle and I'll change him!" Still a little stunned, Tara begins to make another bottle.

She knows she should be thankful and polite. Lyla is just trying to help. And lord knows Tara could use it, with all the things going on lately. She aches for another person that understands what this life is like. Someone that won't judge her for hating it sometimes like Gemma would.

But she cannot betray Donna. Will not betray her. She feels like this is making up to Donna the fact that she never sought her out upon returning to Charming. She never fixed their relationship in life so she's trying to fix it in death. But she's tired and try as she might, Ken and Ellie seem to like Lyla. Jax speaks highly of her. And Opie does seem happier with her in the picture.

She'll be civil, nothing more and nothing less. She'll be sure to show appreciation to Lyla for her help but then firmly tell her that she can handle it, that she can do it herself. With that in mind, she enters the dorm room with the bottle in hand. She stops dead in her tracks.

Lyla's pretty, young face has morphed into that of a mother. She's singing quietly to Abel, pulling his pants up and smiling. Abel is watching her quietly with wide eyes. Lyla kisses both his cheeks then his forehead.

"Sleep, Johnny, sleep, I'll give you apples three, one will be red and the second green, sleep, Johnny, sleep, close your little eyes." She's singing to keep Abel quiet and he's smiling for her.

"What lullaby is that?" Tara asks, before she can help herself. Lyla looks up, startled. She picks up Abel and rocks him, handing him off to Tara so she can feed him. Tara settles down on the bed and after a long moment, Lyla sits next to her hesitantly, looking at Abel rather than Tara.

"It's an old Czech lullaby that my grandmother used to sing to me." She tells Tara. "It used to be the only thing that I could use to get Piper to go to bed." She looks at Tara with a hopeful smile.

"Abel loves to listen to music before bed." Tara reveals. "I play a lot of classical for him."

"I'm sure it won't be long before Jax has him on soft rock." Lyla jokes and despite herself, Tara cracks a smile.

"Oh, I don't doubt that." She mutters, rocking Abel slightly as his eyes droop as he eats.

"He's a handsome boy." Lyla ventures, trying to keep the conversation going. Tara smiles at him.

"Just like his daddy." Tara tells her, smiling at her.

"Do you ever see a little bit of yourself in him?" Lyla asks and Tara goes rigid. Lyla, clearly sensing something, bites her lip.

"I'm not Abel's biological mother." She says tightly.

"Oh, I didn't know. I thought…" Lyla trails off and Tara feels bad. Lyla looks like she is truly upset at the notion that she's upset Tara. She relents slightly, shifting Abel and taking a deep breath.

"Abel's real mom was a drug addict. She went off to rehab after she gave birth to him and I was his doctor and Jax and I just kind of… Fell together." Tara confesses and Lyla smiles, tickling Abel's feet.

"Well, you certainly love him like he's your own, that much is clear." She says quietly and it warms Tara's heart to hear those words.

"I'm glad you think so. I always worry that people are going to think I love him less, because he's not my real son." Tara admits, feeling like a weight has been lifted at the admittance of her darkest fear.

"I doubt anyone thinks that. Maybe I just recognize it cause I know what it's like." Lyla tells her. "I love Kenny and Ellie like they're my own." She clarifies at Tara's look.

"I'm sorry if this comes out wrong, but do you really love them?" Tara questions. "I mean, it's only been awhile for you and Opie."

"I know." Lyla agrees. "But that doesn't mean I can't fall in love with his kids. I mean Kenny, he's so funny. Like he can find any way to make you laugh on a bad day. I don't even know how he knows! I can fool everyone but not him. And Ellie, gosh, she's already like a mother. She makes sure Piper eats his vegetables and Kenny washes his feet. They're just great kids."

"Donna raised them that way." Tara says, only a little defensive. Lyla looks at her with sadness.

"You knew her." She states and Tara watches as Abel slowly finishes his bottle with sleepy eyes.

"We went to high school together." She confirms and Lyla sighs heavily.

"I knew you hated me for some other reason than my job." She mutters and Tara looks at her with surprise.

"I don't hate you!" She insists automatically then bites her tongue. Lyla smiles sadly, shaking her head.

"I know you don't think I'm the best choice for Opie. And that's fine. But I love him. And I love those kids. And I don't ever want to take her place. I just want to help them." Lyla declares and Tara watches her. Abel begins to fuss again. "Sleep, Johnny, sleep, I'll give you apples three, one will be red and the second green, the third one blue, Sleep, my good Johnny." Lyla resumes singing.

"You're a good mother." Tara mummers, rocking Abel back to sleep. "And I think you're good for Op. I just…" She takes a moment to gather her thoughts. "I'm loyal and that's a blessing and a curse. I loved Donna and I'm scared to like you. Like that'll somehow hurt her."

"The way I see it, the love she had for Op, for her babies, for you and Jax and everyone, that lives on. I can't touch that or replace it. I'm just trying to add to it." Lyla describes and Tara doesn't even realize she has tears in her eyes until Lyla scoots over and wipes them away.

"You're too nice to hate." Tara jokes in a wavering voice and Lyla smiles, hugging her tightly.

"I also wanted you to like me. Op and the kids adore you." She tells her and Tara chuckles.

"You know, I'm not usually really good with girl friends." Tara warns her. "Apparently sometimes I'm a little frigid." Lyla shrugs.

"And I'm use to girls hating me because their boyfriends want to bang me. We can be bad friends together." Lyla says confidently and Tara laughs, remembering how good it feels to laugh again with someone.

"I'm ok with that." She says and Lyla beams.

 **AN:** Sorry for a slightly later update, it's graduation weekend for me! Let me know what you think of this one, we're fast approaching my favorite episode and I'm excited for you guys to read that. Please review, thank you!


	25. Season 2- The Culling

Episode 12- The Culling

 _The call going out for lockdown_

Gemma sits in her kitchen, phone in one hand and a tattered notebook in the other. It's been awhile since she's had to do this and she notes sadly that some of the names on the list will no longer need protection- Luann is dead, Kyle's family is gone, and so on.

She oddly enough likes these moments. She likes having a feeling of purpose, that ironclad resolve that she's going the right thing. So she picks up the phone and starts running through the numbers. Clay has already reached out to bikers and friends of the club. Her duty is to gather the women.

"Hey baby, it's Gemma." She says to the first number. "Grab the kids, we're going on lockdown."

"What, why?" A nervous woman on the other end asks.

"Long story. We'll explain when we get there. Grab your babies. Supplies. Anything. Hurry up." Gemma orders. It's a conversation she has over and over again- all the crow eaters must be gathered, along with old ladies and children. Anyone who's ever shown kindness to the club will join them behind their walls.

Tara gets the call first. She's been expecting it, the way Jax has seemed tense and worried. She's had Abel's bag packed for what seems like weeks, all the extra clothes, diapers, and formula she can spare for him. She's unpacked and repacked her medical bag, debating on which items will be needed the most. She's never quite sure what's going to happen in the club.

As much as she doesn't want to admit it, she gets a thrill of excitement as she and Jax dance around each other in the small house, trying to remember all the things they'll need. It's like preparing to ride out a long storm, safely hunkered down. She feels protection at the club.

Gemma and several crow eaters walk into the supermarket. Gemma raises her sunglasses, looking around. Several citizens of Charming are doing their own shopping and look mildly alarmed at the sight of wild-eyed women with long lists, frantically grabbing everything within reach.

"However much you think we need of something, double it." Gemma commands, looking at her own list. "Except toilet paper. Triple that. Go straight to the clubhouse after this. Nowhere else, you understand?" They all nod and Gemma dismisses them with a tense wave.

Lyla gets both a call from Gemma and Tara and that makes her smile. She hefts Piper's bag onto her shoulder, helping Ken grab more underwear and less toys. She reassures Ellie everything is fine and smiles as Opie kisses her check, inspecting the kids bags and her own before nodding and sending them to safety.

Unser's never sure what to bring to these things. Ammo, ammo, and more ammo. He always feel a little off balance during times like these, his allegiance swinging further from his shield and closer to the bikers. But he has chosen his path long ago and now he puts bullets into a bag and readies himself for what's coming.

The lot in front of the clubhouse is filled with cars. Nervous crow eaters are streaming in, gaggles of kids behind them. Other bikers have answered the call and stand watch. As they pull in, Tara feels a swell of happiness in her heart. Once this might've scared her. Now it's all she's ever remembered wanting. A family to love and protect.

Jax locks down the club, smiling slightly as he remembered similar things happened as a child. It had always seemed fun back then, a mini vacation with all his friends and uncles. Days out of school, plenty of time to get into mischief with Opie, and new bikes to inspect and admire. Some of that happiness carries to now, except he feels like he's finally shielding those that need it.

Tara walks into the clubhouse and is surprised at the number of people there. Crow eaters, talking easily to the new bikers and SAMCRO, kids that look around, not fearful, just curious, and even Unser, looking slightly out of place. She's never realized how far SAMCRO's roots spread into Charming.

Jax follows Tara, observes the same thing she does, his crowded clubhouse. He sees the women and children and he smiles to himself. No one else will get hurt on his watch. His club, his growing and thriving club, it's safe. Everyone in it is safe. Everything will work out.

"You're here because you're family." Clay declares and for Lyla, her heart fills with pride at those words. She keeps Ellie tucked under her arm, the little girl's head resting in her shoulder. Family. Her new family. For Tara, those words strike a cord in her. She had tried to rip Jax away from this family and now they've enveloped her. She finds herself so deeply entrenched with them, she can't even recall who she was when she hated them.

"You got a comfort concern, you talk to my Queen." Gemma looks out into the crowd at the faces of the people she loves more than anything, those that she's gathered here. From the pornstars that have somehow become more, to the oldest crow eaters that have been with the club almost as long as her. This is her place. This is her duty.

* * *

 _Opie always being the calm head (or 3 times Opie talked Jax out of a fight and 1 time he didn't)_

"And do you know what he did?" Jax demands and Opie raises an eyebrow, unconcerned.

"Probably took your glove." He suggests and Jax clenches his fists so tightly they go white.

"He took my glove like it belonged to him!" Jax rages. "C'mon, we're going to go beat him up!"

"Or," Opie says calmly, still busy trying to watch TV and ignore Jax. "We could wait until he leaves it in his locker tomorrow at school, leave class, and go get it from his locker."

"But then he'll just steal it again!" Jax protests and Opie looks at him.

"So rip open that leather jacket of his he loves so much." He proposes evenly and Jax lights up.

"Ok, that's a good plan." He admits, thinking it over.

"Yeah and now I don't have to save your ass." Opie mutters under his breath, settling back in to watch TV.

(-)

"Opie!" Tara calls and he leaves off talking to a group of guys to wander over to her. She's leaning against the wall of the bar, looking glum.

"What's up?" He asks with concern and she gestures to inside, where Jax is downing a shot and yelling at another man. "What's he fighting about now?" He asks her and she shrugs.

"Respect. Dick size. I don't know, I don't care. But he won't listen to me and I would prefer that I not drag him back home and have to do homemade stiches, so can you talk it out of her?" She begs and he gives her a look.

"If you can't talk him down, how am I going to?" He asks her and she rolls her eyes, waving her hand.

"Do that thing where you say a couple words in his ear and instead of punching people, he just punches walls." She orders and Opie cracks a smile, enters the bar, grabs Jax's upper bicep firmly, speaks lowly to him, and then drags him outside to Tara.

"C'mon, let's go home." Jax says roughly to Tara and she raises an eyebrow behind his back.

"What'd you say to him?" She mouths and Opie grins.

"Just reminded him that you're waiting on him." He says and Tara laughs and smacks him.

(-)

"All those pussy-ass bikers, thinking they're tough shit." A loud voice sneers and Opie rests a hand on Jax's forearm when he sees him tense. "Half the guys thinking a scrap of leather makes them big and scary. They ain't nothing." He scoffs and Jax looks at Opie with pleading eyes.

"Not. Tonight." He states, taking a drink of beer.

"Why not?" Jax points out. "He's clearly a poser Op. We gotta say something, do something!"

"And what, tear down the bar while we're at it? Clay sent us here to keep watch and you think we can do it when we're kicking the shit out of someone? Drink your beer, calm down. We'll do it later." He reasons and Jax sulks.

(-)

Opie observes the fight in the ring without much interest, alternating between puffing on a cigarette and drinking his beer. There's a bunch of bikers all together and the normal festivities are happening- drinking, fighting, hookers, the like. Even Jax has pulled himself out of his wallowing misery to enjoy it. He's across the fire, laughing.

"Hey, Jax." Someone calls and Opie doesn't recognize who the man is, just the fact that he's very drunk.

"What?" Jax asks, looking up from the hooker on his lap.

"Where's that hot piece you had last time I was here? Taylor? Tyra?" He questions, laughing. "Man, she was fucking hot." Opie doesn't even flinch in his seat, even though Donna's nails are digging into his chest.

"Op…" She mutters warningly. "He's gonna lose it."

"Just like he has every other time someone's brought up Tara. I can talk him out of a lot of things Donna. She's not one of them." He explains. Donna watches in horror as Jax launches himself at the other man with a roar of anger. Opie just takes another drink.

* * *

 _Queen Lessons_

There's more to being a queen than letting other people make your coffee, Tara realizes. She watches Gemma and reflects on the lessons she's learned so far from her. Being a queen is so much more than that.

It's grace under pressure. Gemma comforts the women that are nervously wringing their hands. She kneels down and makes jokes with the children, smiling until they do too. She acknowledges the other charters, doing whatever she can to make them happy. She keeps the atmosphere of the clubhouse happy and calm, more like a party than a dangerous situation.

It's making the right choices. Gemma listens carefully to everything that's going on and Tara's half convinced that Clay and Jax don't even notice. She settles disputes and gives her ideas and thoughts. Never does Tara see her hesitate or misstep. She's always ready for whatever will come next.

Mostly, it's about strength. It's about being able to handle this situation, one that makes Tara feel like she's going to throw up, without batting an eye. Gemma thrives here, picking people up, being a mother to fifty people. She doesn't ever show the weight of it, doesn't even flinch at the guns being carried out. It's like the force of her love casts a giant shield around them all.

Tara feels like she's in a bubble, constantly being around people but never quite touching them. She's not sure how to let these women in. She feels above them in a way- she has probably double the years of schooling they do, a job that actually helps people, and an IQ that several of them couldn't string together if they tried. Yet here she is, sitting beside them.

She doesn't look like them. She's lacking the faded tattoos, piercings, tight corset tops, low cut jeans, and teased hair. She tries to retain a sense of who Tara Knowles was before, but the more she's around them, the less she remembers that girl. She finds herself admiring them in a strange way.

Does she even want to be their queen? Is she even ready to be a queen? She can impersonate Gemma's behavior for an hour or two. She can mimic the attitude. But she's still learning. She's still figuring out the rules of being the queen. She knows she shouldn't worry. Gemma won't give up her crown. But Tara is still nervous at the concept of being a princess.

She follows along behind Gemma, listening to problems and reassuring people. She sees the fierceness in Gemma's eyes as the men plan to attack instantly turn to tenderness when Abel needs a bottle. She watches and observes and learns from Gemma, a quiet and obedient presence in the background. Gemma walks around like a monarch.

She used to laugh when they called Jax a prince, but now she's beginning to understand just how much of royalty they really are.

* * *

 _Clay and Gemma (for cheryl24, who suggested this!)_

"It's gotta be big." Clay tells the saleslady, who looks mildly terrified at the sight of leather, bandana, boots, and tattoos.

"Well, we have lots of large stones." She says, her voice trembling just slightly and Clay shakes his head.

"No, I mean huge." Clay says, leaning forward and she tries to take a step back but takes a deep breath and forces a smile onto her face, pulling out a tray of rings, showing him.

"These are the finest selections we have." She says bravely and Clay looks them over with a sneer.

"I want bigger." He declares and she bites her lip, glancing over her shoulder at her manager.

"Well, those options are significantly more pricey…" She says hesitantly and Clay stares her down.

"Price isn't a problem." He states flatly and she scurries away from him, talking to the large man behind the main counter. With a frown, he walks over and Clay rolls his eyes.

"Hello, Mr. Morrow." He says pleasantly and Clay just raises an eyebrow. "How can I help you?"

"Well, as you could probably guess, I'm here to buy a ring." He tells him, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.

"Are you not satisfied with these rings?" He asks, feigning ignorance and gesturing to the tray on the counter.

"No." Clay says flatly.

"Can I ask why?" The manager asks, still feigning confusion.

"I. Want. A. Bigger. Ring." Clay spells out through gritted teeth. "And if you don't understand that, I'll go somewhere else, got it?"

"Well, we just typically like to make sure that our clients are aware of the significant price increase that comes along with those things." He says smoothly and Clay fights his temper back down.

"Money is not a problem. I want the best for my queen." He says and the manager's fake smile grows.

"How romantic, you call her your queen." He says and now Tig, who's previously remained quiet and watchful of any trouble outside, even looks a little annoyed. He walks over.

"You know anything about a biker club?" He asks the manager, who shakes his head, likely intimidated by the huge gash on Tig's face from a recent fight. "Well the woman of the president, her title is queen. It's not some nickname." He says and Clay hushes him.

"Can I see the bigger rings?" He requests once more and the manager bows his head, heading to the back.

"Christ, I am not the right person for this job." Tig mutters, rubbing his head and Clay grins at him.

"You're better at getting your dick sucked and leaving them." He states and Tig shrugs.

"Amen to that brother." He mutters and resumes his post by the door. Finally, the manager comes back with another tray.

"These are the biggest rings we offer, Mr. Morrow, I assure you of that." He promises and Clay takes a long time look each other, ignoring the man as he prattles on about cuts and settings.

Time and time again his eye is drawn to a ring in the corner, a large yellow gem with diamonds surrounding it. He picks it up, inspecting it carefully. It's nothing like the ring John had bought her and that's why Clay loves it. Different. Perfect. Worthy of his queen.

He imagines her in it and nothing else. Her wry smile, sparkling eyes, and a giant rock on her finger, proclaiming her as his and no one else's. Wordlessly, he signals for Tig to come over and see it.

"That's a gem for Gem if I've ever seen one." He says and Clay ignores his pun, handing the ring to the manager.

"That's the one." He decides and the manager hesitates until Clay pulls out his checkbook. "Just give me the amount of zeros." Twenty minutes later he has a small velvet box and a smug smile on his face.

"When are you going to ask?" Tig asks and Clay shrugs, getting on his bike and putting his sunglasses back on.

"When the time feels right." He says vaguely, revving the engine. Then he drives for Gemma's house.

(-)

"I should get dressed." Gemma mutters, tracing patterns on his chest as he runs his hands over her naked body.

"There's something I want to see you in." He mummers and she frowns, checking the clock.

"I don't think we have time for some role play babe, Jax will probably be home from the shop soon." She warns him.

"I think you'll want to make time." Clay advises her and while she's frowning, confused, he pulls out the box and pops it open. "I've been thinking about you in it all day."

"Clay…" She gasps, looking at it in surprise.

"I'd get down on one knee, but I think this is the position I should be in for what's coming next." He says confidently. "Be my wife Gem." She slips the ring on and then draws him close to her. "Is that a yes?" He wonders and her lips answer the question for him.

* * *

 _SAMCRO kids_

"Jesse!" His mom calls to wake him up. "C'mon, school!" Grumbling, he rolls out of bed and pulls on the clean clothes he has left, grabbing his backpack and heading downstairs. He grabs his pop tart breakfast and trudges out the door, heading for the bus.

"Hey Jesse." A couple kids mutter when he slumps into an open seat, trying to get a couple more minutes of sleep. They rouse him when they get to the school and blearily, he follows them into school and his desk, where he rests his head until the bell rings and class begins.

He's still mostly asleep until midway through the morning and his teacher is teaching them state capitols. He's listening and trying to keep North and South Dakota straight when the loudspeakers go off. All the students look up in interest- this is the most exciting part of their day.

The principal is asking for a list of students to come to the office. Jesse jumps when he hears his name, but the closer he listens, the more names he recognizes and sees a pattern. They're his friends, the ones that have been gifted a slightly mocking nickname- club kids.

It's not that his father is in the club, riding around with a cool motorcycle. No, he's not that lucky. He doesn't know his dad. Never has. Only his mother, who loves him and tries to only disappear to the club on the weekends but sometimes fails. Then there are the kids who have both parents that are with the club in other ways- friends, tattoo artists, bartenders, and the rest.

They bond together naturally. Shared experience or exposure or whatever it is. Maybe it's because they don't fit in with the preppy kids, with their cheap shoes and clothes that smell just faintly like cigarettes. But they have their own friend group and that's enough.

His teacher dismisses him to the office and with his stomach feeling hollow; he grabs his bag and heads downstairs, wondering what could possibly be going on. Are they in trouble? What did they do? He didn't do anything. Thoughts swirling, he pushes the glass door to the office open. His heart soars when he sees that Tiffany, Jaeger, and Chloe are already in there.

"What's going on?" Chloe asks him and he shrugs, indicating that he knows as much as they do.

"You're all instructed to wait her until a parent can get you." The secretary tells them kindly and they wait as more of the younger kids file in, sitting on the ground and looking around with wide, scared eyes. Finally, after what seems like hours, their parents finally arrive.

"Mom!" Jesse says loudly when she walks in. "What's going on?"

"We have to go." She says quietly, kneeling down and checking to make sure he has everything. "Don't worry, everything's fine, we just have to go somewhere for a little while."

"Where?" He asks and the look she gives him makes him go quiet. He follows the other kids and parents out of the school, to a long black van. They pile in, sitting on the floor, parents holding kids, as a dark haired man with a funny accent makes sure they're all fine.

"It's ok." His mother keeps repeating and he stays quiet beside her until they pull into the club.

"Mom, why are we here? It's a school day." He says, eyebrows furrowed. She shushes him as they get out of the van. He looks around and his stomach turns over. The parking lot is filled with cars. Men with guns stand on the roof. More men in their leather kuttes are walking around, smoking and talking in low tones between the bikes.

"Jess, go with the other kids." She orders and he hesitates near her. "Go, sweetie, I'll be in soon!" Reluctantly, he follows Jaeger to picnic tables and they sit, watching as people pass with no regard to them.

"I wonder what's going on." He mutters and Jaeger shrugs, wide eyed as a man with a massive knife pauses to adjust it next to them.

"It's like they're getting ready for a fight." He says back quietly and that makes Jesse more nervous. Why couldn't they have stayed at school? Will they have to fight too? He wishes he were back in his bed. It's not long before his mom comes back and grabs his shoulder.

"Baby, you know how I told you there's some bad people out there in the world?" She implores and he nods. "Well those people are here now. But that's why we're with the club, they're going to protect us."

"But why do they have to?" He protests and she sighs, kissing his forehead and hugging him tightly.

"Because Jess, they love us and this is what a family does, we protect each other and they're going to help you, ok?" She asks, searching his face.

"Ok." He mutters.

"Cheer up, you get out of school!" She says brightly and he shrugs. "Well, go play with Jaeger. Stay out of the guys way, ok?"

"But-" He starts to whine and she gives him a stern look. "Ok." He agrees, drooping slightly.

"Help out with the other kids." She orders. "Be a big boy today. I love you. It's going to be just fine." With that, she disappears inside.

"Well, what should we do?" Jaeger asks and Jesse shrugs. They wind up inside, trying to keep the younger kids engaged with out of date toys. He's getting frustrated and annoyed and tired and when he snaps at a younger kid, it's not his mom that comes over, but an older, dark haired lady.

"Is everything ok?" She asks and they all remain silent, unsure of her intention. Their collective silence seems to amuse her- a small smile grows. "I'm sorry the toys aren't much." She apologizes, picking one up and looking it over. "They must've been fun when my son Jax was your age, but now they're just old."

"How olds your son?" Jesse blurts out and she smiles, turning and pointing to a man at the bar, bouncing a baby with a smile on his face.

"That's him." She says proudly. "And my grandson, Abel. He's probably the only one in here who'd like these toys." She jokes and they all smile, reassured that they're not in trouble.

"He looks nice." Jaeger says slowly and she smiles at him.

"He's not as scary as the other guys, huh?" She asks and they nod. "Yeah, he's a real sweetheart."

"Are you scared of the bad men?" Tiffany asks the woman and her faces falls a little bit.

"Oh, come here baby." She says, opening her arms and without hesitation, Tiffany crawls in. "I'm not scared of the bad men, that's why we're here. My son, he's going to protect all of you. All the men are. There's nothing to be scared of. I promise you." She says, tenderly stroking her hair.

"That's what I told her." Jesse informs her.

"You're a good boy." She praises.

"I could go with them." He says brightly, emboldened by her flattery and she shakes her head.

"No, they need you here. You keep all the little babies safe." She says and he frowns. "You see Abel?" He looks back towards the baby. "I love him more than anything on this planet. So do his mommy and daddy. And they don't want anything happening to him, so they're trusting you to take care of him. And that's very important, I want you to know."

"Ok." He says thoughtfully, chest puffed out with purpose. The woman smiles at him and stands back up, rubbing their backs.

"I'm very proud of you all." She tells them. "You're all wonderful for letting your parents be and behaving. Thank you." When she walks away, they quietly resume playing, all of them feeling special. Jesse thinks to himself that the cool kids at school can keep their phones and shoes. He'd rather have this family over that stuff any day.

 **AN:** So this episode holds the record for best episode ever, and I hope i conveyed some of that in my writing! So many things I loved- Queen Gemma, Princess Tara, protective daddy Jax, the other side of the club. I've always been fascinated by the other kids in the club, who they are, what'd it be like... So please review and tell me what you think of my favorite chapter!


	26. Season 2- Na Triobloidi

Episode 13- Na Triobloidi

 _Symbolism of crows_

 **Many cultures consider crows to be the keepers of the Sacred Law, for nothing escapes their keen sight.**

"No." Gemma says flatly, walking past the open garage door. In disbelief, Clay, Jax, Opie, and Tig stick their heads out and look at her.

"No what?" Clay demands and she heaves boxes into the back of her car.

"No to whatever you're doing in there." Gemma says, without even looking at them. She walks by to go get another box.

"We're not doing anything!" Tig protests.

"Oh, you're just having beers and shooting the breeze?" Gemma asks sarcastically, getting another box and stacking it on top of the first.

"Yeah." Jax says defensively.

"Fine, then help me with these boxes." She orders and they do as told, finally getting all of them neatly in Gemma's trunk. She climbs into the drivers seat then sticks her head out the window with a stern look.

"What?" Clay asks innocently.

"If you're trying to rig an engine to a refrigerator because Jax and Op think it'd be funny to drive it down Main Street, at least have the smarts to go find some shitty one, not the one I have in the garage." She states and then backs out. They all groan, looking at each other.

"How does she do that?" Tig wonders. "How does she always know?"

"You can't slip nothing past mom, trust me, I've been trying for 21 years." Jax says, shaking his head.

 **Crows often appear in groups**

The bar, loud and raucous as it is, is filled with different walks of life. There's the bar flies, drunken men who have mastered the art of balancing on a stool even after they've been on a 72 hour bender. There are the locals, in for a quick drink to wind down before the weekend. There are the hookers, casting watchful eyes around for new clients.

All these people go quiet when the door opens with a loud bang. Heads turn and voices hush, making the old Metallica song blaring from the jukebox seem extra loud. A group of about 10 or so men walk in, glancing around. They make their way to the car and eventually the noise level rises again.

The men range in height and weight. For the most part, they have long hair and tattoos, either a cigarette or a beer on their lips. All together, they total 9, taking up a large section of the bar, glancing around and talking amongst themselves in low tones.

It's an elite group to join, these men. They aren't typical friends, they're something more. They're SAMCRO, a name that while still new in town has made an impact like no other. They're cops, renegades, vigilantes, criminals, and good men, all depending on who's being asked.

They always travel in packs, watching each other's backs. They'd rather talk to each other, making jokes and laughing, than anyone else, so most of the other bar patrons gives them a wide berth out of respect. If there was any doubt of who they are, it's fixed by the sight of a row of bikes outside.

 **When a crow explores something new, others watch closely to see what happens and then learn from it.**

"JAX, JAX, JAX!" The crowd is chanting and Jax takes a deep breath, stretching his neck and back, jumping up and down a couple times.

"You got this?" Opie asks lowly and Jax nods determinedly, the drunken sheen on his face thrown into sharp relief by the fire.

"Yeah, I can do it." He states, eyes fixed ahead of him. Opie nods and Jax takes the handlebars. A silence falls and Opie claps his back.

"Good luck." He states and Jax nods then begins to pedal as fast as he can. He leans forward, ignoring the burning his thighs and hits the jump. He soars high above the fire, flames licking at his feet and the fires. He's flying, going… And he comes down, too close to the embers.

"Shit!" He hears someone yell but all of his focus is on falling forward, away from the fire and not backwards, into the fire. The bike shoots out one way and he goes to other, scrambling. He feels the harsh sting of pavement, but no burns, so he knows he's alright.

"You ok?" Clay asks, helping him up and Jax walks it off, trying to pinpoint what's hurting.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm ok." He reassures them and they all pat his back. Then their attention turns to the jump.

"I think if we make it closer, we'll clear it." One suggests.

"No, we need more room to build up speed." Another insists and not ten minutes later the crowd is chanting,

"OP, OP, OP, OP!"

 **They often make great noise when hunters are around, warning deer and other birds**

Clay is the first one in the massive line of bikers. He surveys the land around him critically, on high alert for anything out of the ordinary. They are on a run to Washington, several charters all together and he's aware that more than likely they'll be the target of cops.

Head on a swivel, that's how it always is on charity runs. Most people think doing this kind of work would make them immune to cops, not but even putting on their nice, smiling faces can stop red and blue lights. It doesn't matter if they're polite and kind or rude and crass. The pat down happens regardless.

They've gotten good at picking up little hints and signs that cops are coming. Guessing where traps are, noticing how they'll sit just a little too close to the speed change zones and pounce. They know when to talk, when to shut up, when to call Gemma and the lawyer.

Clay looks ahead and sees the curve in the road. He slows down and the change of pace trickles all the way to the riders in the very back. A lone bike rumbles the opposite way of them and Clay waits for the signal. When the rider is close enough, he raises three fingers. Clay nods and holds up 3 fingers of his own, Jax, Tig, Bobby, everyone doing the same.

Thee cops ahead. The message is passed back soundless through the group, man after man raising his hand so that the charter behind him can see. They take the curve slower than they would've liked and as if on cue, three cop cars burst from behind a natural cover, lights blazing and sirens wailing.

They pull over Clay and he just laughs when Jax loses his short tempter and gets slammed into the hood of a truck. He can't do anything but laugh. Thanks to the warning, no speed limits were violated and the cops are forced to let them go, sneering in disgust. Clay chuckles and climbs back on his bike, mindful of the next trap.

 **Crow can also teach us to be mindful about judging people automatically.**

Hannah Anders skips through the big department store, marveling at all the things there. Pretty leather shoes with sparkly buttons, long, flowing gowns with silky designs, big diamond rings in their protective glass cases… She could go on and on, exploring here all day.

"Hanny!" Her mother calls and she slips between racks of suits, joining her mother. "Oh, there you are." She says, glancing down and spotting her.

"What are you looking for?" Hannah asks her curiously and her mother smiles, holding up two ties.

"Your father needs a new tie for Christmas. I thought you could give it to him, as a surprise, before your Christmas play." She offers and Hannah nods excitedly, pointing to the gold one.

"He'll like that one." She says confidently. "It even matches the necklace he gave me!" She proudly holds onto the thin, dangling gold cross that bounces against her chest. Her mother beams and sets the other tie down.

"Gold, good choice. You're so proud of you dear. We can't wait to watch you in the Christmas play. You're going to make the best angel." She declares and Hannah smiles.

"I'm lucky to be an angel. God blessed me, otherwise I'd have to be a cow like Mallory J." She says seriously and her mother takes her hand as they head towards the checkout.

"God has blessed you, I'm glad you know that. He blesses all the little girls that are kind and sweet." She tells her and they spend the rest of the time buying the tie discussing Jesus's love for them. As they leave the department store, Hannah clutching the bag with her father's tie in it tightly, they walk through the rest of the mall.

Christmas shopping is at it's thickest and there's crowds jostling to get into stores. Hannah tugs as far away from her mother as she can get, eager to look at all the shiny objects in the stores. Suddenly, her vision to blocked by black and she looks up, shrinking back.

A tall man, with dark, curly hair, has arms weighed down with bags and a little girl, tugging on his hand, much like Hannah had been doing. She's got similar dark hair and big eyes, her sweatshirt a little big and slipping off one shoulder. She's chattering loudly while the man looks down at her, amused. Hannah is wide eyed, watching him.

He's covered in studs and sharp edges, black leather and skulls leering down at her. The other little girl seems unbothered by this. Hannah's mother yanks her closer, looking down at her with furrowed eyebrows. Hannah glances at the man and then back at her mother.

"There are some people who don't hold god and faith in their heart." She says quietly. "And you know how terrible their lives are because of it, so you should never talk to them. You stick with the people of the church, do you understand? Anyone else is dangerous and evil and has the devil in their hearts." She orders and Hannah nods.

They finally make their way through the mall and out the doors to the chilled December air. There's a grey sky above and the wind makes Hannah shiver, drawing her coat a little closer. As they start for their car, the rattling of metal makes Hannah turn. An old man, in a ragged coat, is holding out a hat, with a sign that says 'Anything Helps, please'.

"Mom." She says slowly, dragging her feet. "That man, why is he outside when it's cold out?" Her mother turns and stops, frowning.

"He doesn't have God in his heart, otherwise he would provide." She says sharply. "Come on, we're going home."

"But shouldn't we help him?" Hannah asks and the glare she receives from her mother silences her.

"Daddy!" A high voice calls and Hannah turns as her mother loads the car. The little girl from before is yanking her father's leather jacket. "He needs help. Can I give him money?"

"Sure, Dawn. Here's your change purse." He says, smiling and handing it down to her. She beams and empties the entire thing into the man's hat, coins clanking. The man bows to her and she grins.

"Merry Christmas!" She says, skipping away.

 **Crows are sly and can be deceptive in their actions**

Gemma lies. Gemma lies all the time. In fact, Gemma isn't even sure when she's lying and telling the truth, that's how natural it is to her. It's like breathing, in and out, lies and truth.

She thinks, as she stands here with a tight black dress, stiletto heels, and her face turned down to the dirty floor of the club, that she could rival any actress on Broadway. This performance, it's her biggest and best lie yet, once that requires all of her skills.

She steps forwards, hands shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, all while her brain ticks rationally away, trying to figure out what looks the most convincing, what a grieving, newly widowed woman would do. Surely they would sit at their husband's coffin and weep, turning away friends and family in order to wallow in their loss. So she does.

Strong arms enclose her and she knows from the feel and the smell alone that it's Clay. To anyone else, it would be a man comforting the widow of his best friend. The VP comforting the queen. It would not be the embrace of lovers, yet that's what it is and Gemma's lips curl into a smile.

No one thinks it odd when he escorts her away from the coffin, pretending that she needs a reprieve from the sympathizers, the men in leather paying respect to the man that founded the very thing that gave them purpose. He's protecting her, consoling her.

No one would expect that instead of confiding in one another about this senseless tragedy, Gemma and Clay are pressed against the door to the dorm, tearing at every inch of clothes they can get their hands on, with murmured comments about how 'Black becomes you, my dear' and 'All I've ever wanted'.

Yes, Gemma Teller can outwardly play the part of a wife, broken by the death of a beloved and good husband, leaving her with her son and a club. Anyone that sees her shakes their head about how the love story between Gemma and John was epic, the stuff of stories. She has lost her soul mate, her true love.

They don't see the slow, sultry stares across the bar over drinks poured in honor of a dead man. They don't see the fingers that trail across Clay's back when she passes him on the way to greet the next round of visitors. They don't suspect anything and certainly not that Gemma Teller is revealing in the death of her husband, the great John Teller.

But she's always been a very good liar.

 **As crows are adaptable to all environments and will eat almost anything, they can survive in almost any situation**

"Beans, beans again." John says in disgust, tossing the can aside. Piney grabs it, putting it back on the table.

"Better than Spam." He says solemnly and several other men around them laugh. John still stares at the tin can in revulsion.

"I've never been so sick of beans in my life." He comments. "I would sacrifice my left leg for a feast of my mom's homemade cooking."

"I'm sure the men over that ridge can arrange that." Lenny calls and the laughter grows. John, shaking his head but smiling, opens the beans.

"She'd have turkey." He says confidently.

"This is turkey." One man protests, holding up a speared piece of gray meat. John shakes his head.

"She'd roast it, like she does on Thanksgiving." He says confidently, gesturing the size of it. "Sweet potatoes on the side. Squash with marshmallows on top. Green beans, with extra butter. And her stuffing… Soft in the middle, but with a little bit of crunch on the top…" He trails off, eyes shut to conserve this wonderful dream. Then men around him elbow him back to the present.

"We got stuffing." One says, poking the greenish mass on his plate.

"Nah, that's mashed peas." Another man says confidently. "Go on, eat it. It's not stuffing."

"It's not peas!" Lenny exclaims and an argument breaks out over it, in which John steals the buttered roll off Piney's plate. He eats it, satisfied.

"Hey!" Piney roars suddenly, ending all discussion. "Where'd my goddamn roll go? Who ate it?"

"I don't know Piney." John says innocently. "Maybe the turkey did." With a growl, Piney swings at him and the men gather, laughing and cheering as they wrestle good-naturedly. A little entertainment takes their minds off of the fact that they're eating food they wouldn't serve to dogs in the states.

"Alright, quit now, beans are getting cold." Lenny orders, nudging them with a booted toe.

"They're better that way." John says dismissively. "I swear to god, when I go home, I'm never eating beans again, not when I had to survive on them in this godforsaken place."

* * *

 _The road being blocked off- "This is the goddamn Wild West!"_

The residents of Charming put up with a lot. For one, they don't complain when taxes are raised to help rebuild the football stadium, not even when the last time Charming football was good was when David Hale let them to the state semi-finals all those years ago.

They don't whine when construction detours them off Main Street, but rather agree that it'll be nice to have those potholes finally fixed. They grin and bear the curfew, save a few troublesome teenagers, they abide the fact the city is near helpless when the temperature drops below 40 and lord help them if it were ever to snow, because that would be the end.

But the one thing they accept as fact is that if the Sons weren't in Charming, they could be deal with much, much worse problems. They don't have drugs, violence, or gangs. It's a small price to pay for that security to turn their heads when bikes ride past, to not judge or interfere.

But this, this is different. SAMCRO is usually discreet, deals made in alleys and the shadows, whispers and hints, the kind of thing parents tell unruly children. Behave, or SAMCRO will come get you. They are not broad daylight, lines of bikes, guns drawn and men glaring at each other from across barricades.

Hale is practically beside himself with anger, but also a sort of burning sense of accomplishment. Now, now Charming will see, see what this club is. Kids play here! Mothers shop here! Families walk here! This is downtown Charming, the heart of it, and people will see that SAMCRO is darkening that heart.

Except people don't. They stand behind the flashing orange signs and watch with interest, not disgust. They hurry their children away, but glance over their shoulders, wondering when the sword will fall. And it makes Hale feel crazy, that no one else sees it.

The residents of Charming don't see the rouge, renegade killers that he does. No, they see vigilantes, knights in somewhat tarnished armor. Brave men, strong men, protecting their town. And Charming deals with a lot, but they know the benefits of it.

They have to deal with closed roads for construction and the occasional shootout. It doesn't bother most. To some, it's good entertainment to spice up their otherwise boring routine. To other's, it's a fitting sendoff to a man who thought he could become one of them.

It's almost like a spectator sport here in Charming. Sitting front row at the newest SAMCRO show, a glimpse into the lives of the men that do such things on the daily. There's intrigue- the veil of the club has lifted some and is showing what it is truly like for those in it, a flash of a lifestyle most wouldn't dream of.

It's their very own Wild West and it doesn't bother most of the residents. Just another condition for their otherwise idyllic lives.

* * *

 _"You're a good son." Jax entering the club_

He keeps his head down, hands in his lap, knees anxiously jangling up and down. He has his eyes shut, better for the memories that are playing against the backs of his eyelids.

Swinging high, close enough to the blue sky to touch it, before the rumble of a bike makes him dig his heels into the earth and kick up a cloud of dust before he's dashing inside- dad's home.

Legs pumping, heart racing, sweat beading on his upper lip, exhaustion threating every limb before he and Opie crest the hill and start their descent downward, whooping in delight.

The countryside, blurring into a watercolor painting as he urges his bike faster and faster, as if his father and Tommy's ghost won't follow.

Tara's face, the colors of the fireworks in her eyes, staring at the sky in wonder while he stares at her.

Her, lip trembling, moving aside to reveal suitcases and her desperate plea that if he took off that leather, if he could toss it aside…

He opens his eyes before the rest of that particular scene can run its course. Opie is across from him, arms folded, appraising him in that cool manner he's had mastered since 7th grade.

"Nervous?" He asks and Jax shakes his head.

"No, I think we'll get our patches." He says, faking confidence and Opie simply takes another measured breath.

"I was more wondering if you were having regrets." He says quietly and Jax looks at him sharply.

"What regrets?" He demands. "I would never regret this. My father's club is my life Op, my birthright."

"I'm just saying, it wasn't that long ago you questioned this." He states quietly and Jax's temper flares up.

"It wasn't like that." He says hotly and Opie puts a hand up.

"I'm just saying, if you ever wanted to put a girl before the club, this is the last time to consider it, cause once we walk in there, brother, we don't walk out the same men as before." He advises and Jax wants to throw a chair through the window, mainly because Opie is right. He did, for a second, want Tara more than the club, was close to picking her…

"But look where that got me." He continues his thought aloud. Opie watches his, a faint hint of sadness between the lines on his forehead. "She left me. This club never will."

"It won't." Opie agrees. "Because you can't leave it." They lapse back into silence for a while, until finally the door swings open.

"Well, come on then boys." Piney's gruff voice says and with a forced effort to hide his trembling, Jax walks in.

"Sit." Clay orders and they all do as such. "Jax, Op, I think you both know why you're here." As Clay intones about the legacy of the club, the history of it, Jax's eyes wander over all the items in the chapel, some that have been there since long before his childhood.

How had he ever even thought about leaving this for a girl was beyond him now, his reasoning fuzzy like when a dream slips away in the morning, leaving behind strange, tantalizing tendrils, nothing more than flashes of sights and feelings. It made no sense, the girl he loves for a few years over the club he had loved for all his life.

But as Clay reminds them all that being a Son means bravery, loyalty, fearlessness, and grit, he can't help but remember Tara's reasoning. How she had pleaded that he was smarter, better, deserved more than blood and violence and all the lies she didn't want to hear.

But it was easy forget that now, in the faces of the men that had practically raised him, been there for his first steps, first day of school, first birthday without a father, and now this. First moments as a fully patched Son. Clay ends his speech with the vote.

Opie, unanimous.

Jax, unanimous.

Sons of Sons.

Afterwards there are a flurry of hugs, men murmuring 'brother', and quiet words about the pride of father. As his patches get sewn on, he catches Clay's eye and the older man walks over, resting his large hand on Jax's shoulder, watching quietly as the needle pushes through leather.

"I expect you're sick of hearing it, but he would be proud." He mutters and Jax knows whom he's referring to.

"Even with the whole… You know." He says lamely and Clay knows enough to understand why Jax still won't say Tara's name out loud. He's silent for a moment then nods.

"I think it makes our choices stronger, when we pick them over something else. It makes our priorities clear. You picked this and you will never question why. You already know." He advises and that makes Jax smile slightly.

"I'm glad you think that." He says and Clay hugs him.

"Your father is proud of you. We both are." He tells him.

* * *

 _Half Sack's story_

He had a different upbringing than most of the other guys. Where they had rather rough childhoods, full of fights and scrapes and bruises, snarling proclamations over territory, girls, things, whatever it was. Compared to them, his early life had been practically idyllic.

He had friends, pretty good grades, a cute girlfriend every couple months, and a stepdad and a couple siblings that rounded out him and his mother. The only downside to it was that he was rather overlooked in the grand scheme of things, more of a blip on the radar than anything.

After high school, he had been aimless, sort of drifting from job to job, watching as his friends went off to school, off to bigger and better things, while he remained in place. It had been a whim when he walked into the recruiter's office and inspected a pamphlet. He liked thinking that people would know his name, be side by side with him. So he joined, trained, and shipped out.

Iraq was unlike anything he'd ever expected. They'd seen pictures, heard stories, all of that, but nothing prepared him for the rough sand, how it got into every crevice, drove him to the brink of madness. But the sand problem paled in comparison to the people.

The people, with sad eyes, hard eyes, hatred and loathing and hope and affection, never knowing what would play across their faces at the sight of the beige vehicles rolling through ruined towns. It was terrifying, never knowing who was on your side and who was against you, what the day would bring.

But he made friends. Started boxing as a way to let off the energy and adrenaline after missions, found he was surprisingly good at it, worked his way up. Loved the brotherhood, the trust, and the comfort of a family. But there was always a dark shadow lingering over him.

The hopeless slaughter, the death and destruction. He stopped eating meat after a suicide bomber took down an apartment building and while they combed for survivors, he saw a girl, no older than 8, her flesh charred and searing, her body alive but her eyes… Dead, unfocused as he approached and tried to ease her suffering, tears streaming down his face.

He wanted to make a little bit of a difference, to take less from the world in the hopes that it would do something to balance the scales, even if was only slightly. He left the army when he was injured, relieved because he wasn't sure how much more he could stomach, the endless mantra that they were making a difference and seeing the contrary every day.

But he missed his brothers. He missed the high, the wave of sharply focused energy that your body has when it's ready for death to strike at any moment. He bought a motorcycle and met the club through friends of friends. It was a blessing, to find a place where he belonged again, where people knew his name. Well, his new name that is.

Half-Sack. Happiness was them, yelling at him, giving him shit, teasing and joking like fathers and brothers. It was Cherry, grinning at him, Gemma clucking over him, the bike under him and the sun warming the leather on his back. There was still blood, still violence. But then he would look around Charming and think to himself that yes, they were making a difference.

 **AN:** And another season finished! I love the symbolism of crows, Tig as a father, Charming's love for the sons and more... Bonus points to people that find the tie in between this chapter and my latest chapter in A Prayer for SAMCRO hint hint... Please leave a review, I will be taking a week off like last time before we pick up season three and the hunt for ABEL!


	27. Season 3- SO

Episode 1: SO

 _Jax and Tara's thoughts on Abel_

Abel's room. He shouldn't be smoking in Abel's room. Oddly enough, that's all he can really fixate on. The smoke is bad for his lungs and he was so sick to start with. Jax shouldn't be smoking in the nursery.

It's this thought that he keeps coming back to, when the waves of pain override him and he drowns beneath them. When his grief that his son is gone, is lost, is dead becomes too much and he feels as though his skull will split down the middle and his ribs will fold in on themselves, he comes back around to it. He really shouldn't be smoking in the nursery.

If he just thinks about that, about how Abel's clothes will smell like the smoke and the bedding will reek of it for weeks after, then he won't think about anything else. He can block out Abel in the water, Abel on the side of the road, Abel in a ditch, Abel somewhere, sad, scared, alone.

No, Tara would hate it if he smoked in here. Gemma would have seven hundred articles she pulled from the Internet about how bad secondhand smoke is for a baby. She'd clean the whole place, top to bottom, while scolding her son for his carelessness.

He should quit smoking as a whole. It'd be better for Abel. Never have to smell it on him, in the house, in Tara's car, wherever. It'd help keep him healthy and away from it. Kid already has an addict for a mother, Jax should keep all this stuff away from him as long as possible.

He shouldn't be smoking in the nursery but he can't move. He can't get up. His back is numb, his legs ache, his head is spinning, but he can't go anywhere. The left side of his chest is empty and if he stays here, maybe somehow it'll get filled again. So he sits and smokes.

He shouldn't be smoking in the nursery. But Abel isn't there, he will never come back, so why does it matter?

Her mom use to make her tea, when she was sick as a kid. She'd brew it strong and piping hot, usually to the point where Tara would burn her tongue on the first sip. She'd play with her hair, telling her stories till she finished the tea and dozed off, always feeling better.

She'd made tea to help herself calm down. She thought maybe it would trigger something in her from long ago, of a mother's loving touch. Holding a warm mug would help her process the fact that Abel is gone, Half Sack is dead, and it is all her fault.

She mostly forgets about the tea. She's in another world, reliving those moments, thinking about what she could've done to save Abel, save Sack, save everyone and not have to tell Jax that Abel is gone. Only when the cup starts to burn her hand does she remember where she is.

She feels like a failure. She is Abel's mother. It is her only job to keep him safe and she failed. She let harm come to him on her watch. Why did she have to take him with? Why did she insist on not being parted with him? Why couldn't she have left him with Lyla, where he would've been safe?

Because she is his mother and she has been so hell bent on proving that for his entire life that she got overconfident. She thought she'd learned from Gemma, she'd done her queen lessons, she could protect them.

Gemma would've thrown herself on that knife before she let anyone come near Abel. She would've died before Abel so much as neared harms way. Tara knows that once Gemma finds out, finds out the whole story, whatever bond has been building between the two of them will be shattered.

Gemma will tell her she should've died with Sack on the kitchen floor before letting harm come to that boy. Tara knows it. So she sits in the kitchen with her tea and tries to think of what she should've done.

* * *

 _Jax's words between the lines_

Jax has always had a way of saying things. He was like a poet, the way he could twist his words until they were beautiful pieces of art, making Tara blush and smile. He could also fashion them into weapons, into perfectly calibrated shots that could tear through the darkest, coldest heart.

But he also had a strange way of saying things, when his emotions ran high. Tara had learned long ago to translate these words. To see through what he said and into what he meant. She had explained it as Jax's way of speaking between the lines, when he said one thing and meant the other.

"I think you blame me." She is trying to be honest, but the words are a way to relieve the pressure that's sitting on her chest.

"This has nothing to do with you. None of it does."

 _This has everything to do with you. You are Abel's mother, the mother I chose for him, and you let him get taken. If he dies, I will never be the same and I don't think you will either._

"None of it?" She can't uncross her arms, she can't keep the clipped rage out of her voice because she wants to scream until her lungs give out.

"I'm sorry this happened."

 _I am sorry that I have failed as father. This is my worst fear._

"I had no right asking you this."

 _You are going to run now and I cannot stop you. You won't stay after something like this and I should've known that._

"Asking me for what?" She needs to hear him say it, even if she can speak the same half language he does, she needs him to say it, out loud.

"Wanting you to stay. Be part of what I am. I didn't think it through. Obviously I do that, I don't think shit through. What it might do to other people."

 _It's all I've ever thought about for all these years. You here. You by my side. And while it's more difficult in practice than in theory, I never would've imagined how happy I could be with both SAMCRO and you in my life._

"I'm not other people." She is the goddamn love of his life, the one that has always been special. She is the only one who understands him, gets him, stands with him, and to be lumped with the crow eaters sets her blood on fire.

"You should've gone back to Chicago."

 _I don't think I would've survived you leaving again, not after you loving my son, my club, me._

"The shit that happened with Kohn, that should've been the end."

 _I protected you and I knew in that moment that I would always do that. I would always find a way to keep you safe. Having you here is my entire life._

"You're not making sense." Why does he always say one thing and mean the other? Why can his words cut to her deepest insecurities, fears, pain?

"This has to be the end."

 _I can't lose you too. And if you stay here and die because of me, I will have truly lost everything._

"You gotta get out, from Charming. Away from me."

 _How can I protect you, how can I do the one thing I promised you? How can I let the only woman I have ever loved down? If you're gone, I'll never have to live through life without you._

"Jax, you can't just expect me-" She's not leaving, not now, not ever, not when she has planted herself here, with him. She will go down fighting him for this.

"Just, Tara. Please don't complicate it, ok?"

 _Please don't fight me to stay, because I do not have the strength to send you away twice, not when all I want to do is hold everyone I love close. It is for the better. I am trying to do better for you than I could for my son._

"It's simple. You don't belong here."

 _You have only ever belonged with me, because that is the only time I have ever felt whole, but now I am broken and I will never be that man you loved and I can't handle you rejecting who I am now. I love you so much and I have already lost my son. Don't make me have to lose you too._

* * *

 _"I don't need a boy to handle my shit."_

"Come here." Jax orders, standing in front of the TV. Tara lifts her head and frowns at him.

"What, we're not going to cuddle?" She pouts and Jax looks tempted for a moment then shakes his head.

"No, I want to teach you something." He tells her and frowning, she gets up. He leads her outside to the backyard.

"Jax, what are we doing?" She asks, peeling her sweatshirt off in the heat of the afternoon sun.

"I want to teach you something." He repeats, taking off his own shirt. Tara watches him in confusion. "I think you need self defense lessons."

"Self defense lessons." She echoes unsurely and Jax nods, raising his fists up. "Why the hell do I need to learn this?"

"Because I'm worried." He admits and she looks at him imploringly. "I just, I want to make sure that you're safe. Always."

"What is this about Jackson?" She asks impatiently.

"I just…" He struggles for the right words and Tara suddenly understands when he rubs his knuckles that carry heavy gold rings. The ring on her middle finger feels heavier.

"It's because of the club." She states and Jax just blinks. "You're worried because you're getting deeper in that shit."

"I'm trying to protect you." Jax insists.

"You know what would protect me even better? Not being a part of the club in the first place." She says harshly.

"Will you just stop being stubborn and learn?" He demands. "You never know when you're going to need to use this shit."

"Fine." She relents, putting her hands up. "But I swear to god Jax, if I ever have to use this, I'm going to be pissed."

Four years later, she's sitting in a crowded bar, two whiskey sours in, laughing and smiling at her friends, trying to stay upright on her barstool as the world spins around her. It's her 21st birthday and she hasn't been this drunk since she was in high school.

She's having fun, so she doesn't let the night turn back to Jax. She's mastered this talent over the years, the ability to avoid things that remind her of him, even after all this time. So she throws back another shot and screams when her favorite song comes on, getting up to dance.

Halfway through the song, she recognizes the telltale signs- tightness in her throat, the rolling of her stomach, the dizziness. She runs for the bathroom before she throws up on the dance floor. She heaves over the toilet, all of her night coming back up.

Eventually, she settles herself enough that she can stand up on wobbly legs and wash her face off in the sink. She inspects herself over, cleaning vomit off her face and rubs her temples.

"C'mon, drink lemon water babe." Jax's voice rings out through her head. She can almost feel his hands rubbing slow steady circles on her back like he always use to when she was sick.

She shakes her head to keep the memory back and takes a deep breath. The world has stopped spinning but she decides a moment of fresh air will help so she strumbles out of the bathroom and onto the back patio. There, she wraps her arms around herself and stares up at the stars, enjoying the relative quiet for a couple moments.

She's not even aware that someone is in her space before her arms fly up, her elbow making solid contact with a nose before she kicks, making contact with a knee or shin, she can't tell. It's hard and causes whoever has approached her to grunt in pain. Before she can stop herself, she's thrown another punch.

"Holy shit!" Someone is yelling and she staggers back.

"Are you ok?" A girl asks her, catching her elbow.

"Tara!" One of her friends calls, pushing her way through to crowd. "What happened, are you ok?"

"That guy, he just grabbed her." The girl explains.

"Yeah and then she went all ninja skills on him. She had him on his knees in a second!" An impressed man calls.

"What? How?" Her friend demands and Tara blinks a couple times to clear the haze of memories that have came flooding back.

Throwing punches at blondes at a house party.

Kicking the balls of grabby men in dive bars.

Wiggling her way out of holds until Jax finally lets her out of his sight and she doesn't need to constantly be protected.

"I, I guess, the adrenaline." She says shakily. "Just kicked in."

"C'mon." Rubbing her arms, her friends lead her away. Tara takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself back down.

"Are you like a secret badass?" One friend jokes as they walk home in a big group and Tara manages a weak breath.

"Yeah, secretly." She mutters and the conversation moves on but Tara sits in silence, trying not to think about her past.

She's always been a fighter, Jax just refined those skills and made her better. She's never needed a man to protect her, but moments like this, she thinks back to Jax and wonders if maybe it would be easier.

But she's never needed him.

* * *

 _Tara flashbacks to Abel's surgery_

She's done a hundred of these surgeries before. It became her specialty, her safe place. She's known for them, has always felt confident in them. Until that day. The day that she heard those fateful words.

"It's Jackson Teller's son."

When they had wheeled him in for surgery, she had detached herself. She had split into two people when she put her mask and gown on. She removed Tara Knowles, the heartbroken teenager and left her in the waiting room. Dr. Knowles went inside, picked up a scalpel, and commanded her operating room.

It wasn't an easy task. She looked down and saw the tiny belly, covered in a blue sheet. All the surgeries, she had known that under that sheet was a baby, with parents and families and futures. But when it was Abel, it was all different because she knew.

Gemma, the grandmother that would fight to protect him. Wendy, the mother that despite all her flaws loved him. Jax, the father that would teach him. Clay, the grandfather that would guide him. She knew that Opie would be the godfather, that Donna would find Ken's old clothes and toys and have Ellie babysit to earn cash on the weekends. She knew people loved him.

And she knew his future. That what-if's were very real. If he didn't live, he wouldn't grow up on a bike. He wouldn't learn to drink and play pool and flirt with women. He wouldn't be the crown prince of Charming, just like his father was before him. He wouldn't be a Teller.

But she pushed through. She held her own, keep a level head, forced herself to see this as nothing more than a textbook case. But when she had to hold herself together outside the operating room, trying to sob quietly so that no one would see or hear her, she knew.

She knew she loved the little boy, loved him because he was a Teller and of course she did, how could she not? She wanted him happy, smiling, walking, talking, and growing. She wanted him to be a healthy little boy that was raised by Jax and herself. She wanted the chance to love him.

And then she got that. She got Abel, she got Jax, she even got Gemma and Clay. She had a family, love, everything she could've ever wanted. She was a doctor and a queen in training. She had the best of both worlds. Until an Irish man who owed her a debt took it all away.

Surgery is no longer safe for her. She stands there, scalpel in hand and she can't separate Dr. Knowles from Tara Knowles. Abel has removed that ability, tore down the walls that separated mother and doctor.

Every baby under that sheet is Abel.

Abel is gone.

It's her fault.

She runs from the operating room before she can mess up the surgery. She can't get a handle on her run away emotions. She thought that the hospital would be safe. She would have purpose again. She would save babies instead of losing them, but that isn't how it works.

She is a mother and mothers that lose their babies have holes in their hearts that can't be filled.

* * *

 _The first time Gemma went home_

"I don't want to do this." She hisses in John's ear and he smiles, running his hand over her face and tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I know you don't." He mutters, kissing her forehead. "But he," He nods to the baby in Gemma's arms. "Deserves to know who he's named after."

"He's named after my brother." The argument is null at this point, they've had it so often. John just nods and kisses Jax's head, watching him sleep.

"If you say no, we'll be done with it." He offers and she grits her teeth, rocking Jax back and forth.

"No, let's go. Now, before I change my mind." She warns and he picks up Jax's diaper bag and holds the door for Gemma. The entire ride her teeth are on edge and John can tell. He rests his hand over her knee and waits.

"I can pull over and we can have a quickie if you want to relieve some stress. Jax could use a sibling." John jokes and that at least relieves a little bit of tension in the car. Gemma cracks a ruefully smile.

"I'm already burning in hell in my mother's eyes for the rest of eternity so I might as well." She grumbles.

"Shit, ok." John goes to pull off the road and Gemma gives him a dirty look. Smiling, he corrects the car. "Just an offer."

"Afterwards." She says with a devilish grin and he grins back at her. "It's this turn here." He pulls into the driveway and Gemma visibly tenses.

"Gem, it's gonna be fine." He says soothingly.

"Easy for you to say, you haven't met my mother." She mutters, briefly putting her head in her hands. "Ok, no, ok. I'm ready."

"I'll grab Jax." He says and Gemma shakes her head.

"No, it's better if I have something in my hands. Means I can't strangle her at the first hint of disgust." She says darkly and John lets her take Jax out of his car seat. She holds her son close, looking up at the house. If John didn't know her any better, he'd say it was fear in her eyes.

"I'm right here the entire time." He says quietly, kissing her head. "I've got your back."

"Watch yours." She warns him then takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and strides up to the front door.

"Do we knock?" John asks and Gemma ignores him, pushing it open. Before John can even take anything in, Gemma is shutting the door and heading for the kitchen, holding Jax tightly.

"I didn't hear you drive up." A short woman is standing at the sink, clipping the stems of flowers, her back towards them. Her white hair is braided down her back. When she turns, John's eyebrows fly up.

"We didn't ride the bike." Gemma scoffs, still holding Jax protectively. "You think I'm that bad of a mother?"

"Well I don't know how his people would raise a baby." Rose is saying but John is too busy absorbing the fact that Gemma is a near literal copy of her mother to be offended.

"We're raising him how we see fit." Gemma snarls and Rose puts the flowers in a vase then wipes her hands.

"Whatever you want, Gemma. Can I see my grandson now?" She asks pointedly, holding out her arms. Gemma flinches away from her and before it can get awkward, John offers his hand.

"John. John Teller." He says, trying to put on his most charming smile. Rose appraises him coolly.

"I know who you are." She says quietly. "You didn't think the news of my daughter marrying you would reach up here?"

"No, I trusted it would." He says pleasantly, refusing to be rattled. "I'm sorry we didn't invite you to the wedding, it was quite small."

"Yes, if by quite small you mean a whole biker gang in attendance." Rose says with a hint of bitterness and John shrugs.

"That's just how my people are, I guess." He keeps the smile on his face even as Rose recoils. Beside him, Gemma's lips are finally curving into a smile too.

"Well," Rose turns away from him as if she hasn't been slighted. "What did you name the boy then?"

"Gemma?" A man's voice calls and Gemma spins, her eyes lighting up.

"Daddy!" She cries and a man with dark hair and kind, wrinkled eyes is embracing her, mindful of the baby between them.

"Oh Gemma, my little girl." He says tenderly, kissing her forehead. "There's my little girl."

"Hi daddy." She says, leaning into his touch.

"And who's this little fellow?" He coos, reaching down and stroking Jax's cheek gently.

"This is Jackson Nathaniel Teller." She says softly and Nate looks at her with wide eyes, a single tear slipping out as he glances between her and the baby. Finally, he shakes his head.

"Hello there Jackson." He whispers, taking him from Gemma's arms. "I am your grandpa Nate and I love you."

"A good name." Rose says and Gemma doesn't turn to face her mother. She stays where she is, watching as Nate hums to Jax.

"I thought it was fitting." Her voice reveals how hard she's fighting back tears. "For him."

"He loves it Gem." John pulls her into a hug. "I know you know that he does. It's ok, I promise." Gemma hangs on tightly to his kutte and he shields her from Rose's prying eyes so that she can cry in peace.

 **AN:** And we're back for season three! Thank you guys for your patience, please drop me a review and let me know what you think!


	28. Season 3- Oiled

Episode 2: Oiled

 _The Abel tattoo_

"Having kids is a trip man." Jax mutters to Opie, staring over the top of his beer broodingly.

"Why's that brother?" Opie takes a swig of his own beer.

"You never story worrying. What he's doing, where is he, who he's with, if he's safe, happy, warm, ok. It kills me." Jax runs a hand through his hair.

"Wait till they're old enough and can run away from you." Opie chuckles at Jax's alarmed face.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad for the kid to stay how little he is awhile longer." He jokes and Opie shakes his head.

"You'll want him to grow up. There's nothing like when your kid falls asleep on your chest after a long day." He reveals and Jax lets him think about for a minute. He snaps himself out of the daydream before it ends with Tara crawling into bed next to him.

"It's his chest I'm worried about." He tells Opie who nods seriously. "I mean, it's like my heart is outside my body. That kid, he's my heart. If he gets hurt, I hurt. My heart, my son." He trails off, an idea sparking in his mind.

"Where are you going?" Opie asks when Jax stands up. He glances at him and Opie sighs, finishing his beer. Then he follows Jax to their bikes. Jax leads the way to the tattoo studio.

"Hey man." He says to the skinny tattoo artist, who stands up and claps him on the back.

"Jax, man, what's up?" He asks, pulling on gloves. "What you need?"

"I think it's time I got new ink." Jax pulls his kutte and shirt off. "Got my kid home, I think I'm ready."

"Hey congrats. He's a fighter." The tattoo artist says sagely and Jax reclines on the chair.

"I want Abel on my chest. Big. Right over my heart." He tells him and the corners of Opie's mouth twitch upwards.

"Got it." The whirl of the tattoo gun fills the studio. Jax closes his eyes and Opie pulls up a chair to watch. "Alright, there it is." He says a while later and Jax opens his eyes, sitting up.

Abel is spelled out over his chest in black letters. Jax sits and observes it for a moment. His son, his heart, forever. He smiles and lets his fingers gently probe the tender skin.

"It's perfect." Opie takes the words out of his mouth.

"Thanks man." Jax says quietly, opening his wallet. The tattoo artist just nods his head. Once he's finished paying, Jax pulls back on his shirt and kutte, walking back to his bike.

"Bar or home?" Opie asks and Jax smiles at him. Always the concerned big brother. He gets on his bike.

"Home. Wanna see the kid." He tells him and Opie nods. The air stings his chest as he drives but it's a good kind of pain. The kind that makes him feel alive and alert. He takes it all in. He gets home and parks the bike, walking inside. He heads straight for Abel's room, reaching down and picking up his sleeping son.

"Jax?" Tara calls and wanders around the corner.

"Hey." He says quietly.

"I didn't think you'd be getting back this soon." She says in surprise. He gives a little shrug, kissing Abel's head and laying him back down. "Well, I'm getting in the shower. Wanna join?" She offers.

"Yeah." He says, smiling. With a sly smile, she leads him to the bathroom and strips down. He follows suit and joins her. She turns and raises her lips to his. He kisses her, their hands exploring the other's body until Tara drags her nails down his chest and he hisses in pain.

"Jax, what- Oh." She goes quiet and leans back, inspecting his chest, wiping water from her eyes. "That's new."

"Opie and I just went." He tells her and she gently runs her thumb over the black ink and irritated skin. "Do you hate it?"

"No." She says softly. "It's perfect. It's amazing. It's you." She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears. "I love it."

"I love him. And you." Jax lowers his lips to hers again.

* * *

 _Jax's first time in jail_

"Jax." Tara calls tiredly, with just the right amount of exasperation and amusement. Jax pauses for a second to let her get close enough to touch his arm then he darts away. "JACKSON!"

"Catch me if you can." He challenges and she stops where she is, folding her arms and glaring at him.

"Stay where you are." She orders and he just raises an eyebrow. "Jackson I am not kidding."

"Come give me a kiss." He says, opening his arms.

"Are you done being an asshole?" She demands.

"Probably." He takes a couple steps towards her and when she doesn't move, he embraces her and kisses her head.

"Stop acting like a child." She chides him and he just laughs, pulling her back to the party.

"You like it when I'm playful." He reminds her and she laughs, leaning into him happily.

"I do. I like it when you're happy." She says quietly.

"Always happy with you." He says, kissing her temple.

(Ten minutes later, Tara is staring in amazement at a cop car as it pulls away with Jax in the back.)

"Hey Jax, want another drink?" A guy asks and Jax glances down at her. She gives a little shrug and he heads off towards the keg. She waits for him, glancing around and taking people in. A shout makes her jump.

Jax has shoved the keg aside and is leaping across it to punch a man. Tara is swept up in the crowd of people running to watch the fight. She elbows and shoves her way to the front, watching in horror and amazement as her Jax, her playful and sweet Jax, turns vicious and violent, blood flying from his mouth as he repeats punch after punch.

Another man tries to jump on Jax and rip him off, but Jax just turns on him, his anger directed at a new target. It soon spirals into an all out brawl, people descending on all sides. Tara gets buffeted but her attention stays focused on Jax, trying to make sure he's ok.

Blue and red lights converge on them and the partygoers scatter, but Tara stays until the dust settles and Jax is left fighting. Tara scrambles out of the way as police swarm the men left fighting.

"Jax!" She yells as he tries to shake off an officer.

"Your boyfriend is going to jail." Another officer tells her and she opens and closes her mouth a couple times.

"What?" She asks weakly.

"He's going to jail. Pick him up in the morning after he's dried out." The officer instructs and with a cloud of dust, the lights fade and she's left with the other partygoers. Numbly, she realizes what she has to do. She has to tell Jax's mom. She has to go to Gemma.

She gets a ride from some random people, the party dying as people continue to leave, gossiping. She stands in Jax's driveway for a long moment, not even sure what she should do. Knock? Wait? Walk in? Finally, she gets the guts up to walk to the door and ring the doorbell.

"The hell kind of- Tara." Gemma's annoyed face quickly switching to one of disgust at the sight of her. "What are you doing here?"

"Jax got arrested." Tara says plainly.

"Jesus Christ." Gemma swears, disappearing back into the house. Tara takes the open door as a sign she should follow. "Clay!" After a second, a male in boxers stumbles into the light.

"What Gem?" He grumbles, then looks up and apparently takes stock of Tara. "The hell?"

"Get dressed, Jax is in jail for- What the hell did he do?" Gemma snaps, turning to her.

"He, uh, we were drinking, and he, um, he was fighting? He got into a fight. And the cops, they came, they told me that he was going to jail, so I'm not… I'm not sure." She trails off and Gemma's lip curls.

"Dumbass." Clay says and Tara is confused as to why he sounds amused instead of angry. "Alright, let me get dressed and we'll go bail him out." He ambles back into the bedroom. Gemma follows, leaving Tara alone in the kitchen. She gulps down water as fast as she can, trying to clear her head.

"Go home." Gemma orders, walking back out and Tara looks at her in shock. "Go, go home."

"No." Tara says automatically and Gemma's eyebrows fly up at the defiant tone of Tara's voice. "I'm not going home."

"Don't you think you've done enough damage tonight?" Gemma asks lowly, leaning forward and glaring at her. "So go home. Mouse." She sneers and Tara looks at her, wide eyed.

"No." She repeats, louder. Clay, in the doorway, watches with interest. "I'm going with you to get Jax."

"Maybe he did pick a girl that's a little more like you than we thought." Clay comments and Gemma looks at him, furious, and Tara looks at him, alarmed. "Get in the car, I'll drive."

"You heard him." Gemma mutters and Tara hurries before they can change their minds. The ride is awkward, silent, and tense. Gemma refuses to even look at Tara, which seems to amuse Clay.

It's the early hours of the morning before they manage to walk through all the legal proceedings and get Jax out. He saunters out of his cell, his easy-going smile offset by the bruises on his face. Tara runs for him and hugs him tightly.

"Brought my mom?" He asks her quizzically.

"Don't ever make me bail you out of jail again." She tells him.

"I won't." It's a hollow promise, but Tara won't understand the full extent of it until years later.

* * *

 _Maureen and Abel_

A babe. Cammy brought her a baby. She stares down at the tiny thing lying in the middle of her bed in amazement. She hasn't had baby since Trinity and she hardly remembers what to do. After marveling for another second at the baby, she rushes back into the kitchen.

"You're lucky I kept some bottles for the wee ones I watch." She says harshly to Cameron, who has his head buried in his hands. "And leftover formula from the shop, what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't." He says loudly and his voice cracks. "Eddy…"

"He's gone." She says soothingly, stopping her preparation of the bottle to lay a supportive hand on Cameron's shoulder. "He's gone to the Lord. He's gone to be home."

"He should be here with me." Cameron takes another deep shuddering breath and tries to compose himself. "I guess I was just trying to replace Eddy. Pay back Jax for he took from me."

"What do you mean?" She asks sharply, turning to look at him. He blinks as if he doesn't understand the question.

"I took Jax's son." He states and Maureen grabs the counter for support.

"Christ Cammy, what did you do?" She asks weakly, making the bottle automatically as her mind races.

"I don't know. I don't know what to do." He clasps his hands as if in prayer.

"Go to church." She advises and her words seem far away. "Go Cammy, go talk to the Father." He nods and sees himself out. "Christ." She whispers, stumbling back to the bedroom.

The baby is still fast asleep, dressed in his dark clothes, his rosebud lips slightly parted. His chest rises and falls steadily. Maureen stares at him in amazement. Jax Teller's son. John Teller's grandson.

She eagerly searches his face for any sign of John in it, but he's still young. She leans down and picks him up, unable to help herself. She just wants to hold a piece of John close to her again. She feels the tears start to well up and she rocks the baby, to sooth him and herself.

They're dozing in the rocking chair when he wakes her with his fussing cries. She gets up to get the bottle and glances down. A soft cry slips through her lips. His eyes are the exact shade of John's, the same beautiful blue that was carried on to Jax and now his son. She feeds him the bottle with shaking hands.

She can't keep him. She can't try to fix Cammy's mistakes. But how can she turn him away? How can she give up this baby, when she so loved his grandfather? So she feeds him and tries to wrap her mind around the fact that somehow this twisted world has given her such a great gift.

* * *

 _Gemma seeing Tara as family_

She's not sure when Tara became family. She's not sure how it happened. But one day, her decade of hatred melts away.

Maybe it's the first time she sees Tara mother Abel, really mothering him. He's fussing in the living room and without missing a beat; Tara is by his side, picking him up, bouncing him slightly as she walks into the kitchen to make a bottle. She skillfully quiets him and then kisses his head. Gemma sees the love in her eyes and knows that Abel is her baby.

Maybe it's the first time she sees Tara loving Jax, really loving him. He's slumped down at the bar of the club and Tara ignores everything, everyone, all the rules, spoken and unspoken, to walk about to Jax. It's been a rough day, if the whiskey on the bar is anything to go by. Tara just gently brings Jax's head to her chest, whispering in his ear and stroking his hair. Gemma sees the tension wash from Jax's shoulders.

Maybe it's the first time she sees Tara accepting the club, really accepting it. She's handling the gun and for once, she doesn't look fearful or timid. She looks confident and amused, heeding Gemma's words and taking her advice as she stares down the sight and works to hit the target. It's the first time Gemma's seen some of that steel she's always thought was in Tara's blood.

Maybe it's the first time she sees Tara fighting, really fighting. She doesn't have Gemma's characteristic one-two punch, but the way she manipulates Ima and the other porn girls is nothing to be swept aside. Gemma watches in admiration and thinks that maybe there's potential there.

Maybe it's the times when she sees Opie and Tara exchange smiles, making comments about their youth. Or when she advises the men of the club on their bullet wounds, rashes, infections, STDs, and more. When she starts to care as deeply for these battered men as Gemma does. When Clay admits that Tara is an asset, that she helps them.

It takes her a while to swallow all the pride she's built up over these long years, first from when she hated the teenage girl who stole Jax's heart to when she hated the young woman that broke it. But somewhere along the line she did and affection for Tara replaced it. And hearing her voice on the other end of the phone reminds her that now, against all odds, she has something of a daughter again.

 **AN:** So season three is going to be a bit of a drag for me, since it's one of my not so favorite seasons. So if you have ideas, toss them my way! Thanks for reading, please leave a review!


	29. Season 3- Caregiver

Episode 3: Caregiver

 _Tara treating gunshot wounds_

"Tara. Tara." Someone is shaking her shoulder and she blearily opens her eyes, trying to wake up. "C'mon, your shift is starting."

"Ah…" She groans, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Thanks Shawna. I appreciate it. Want my bed?"

"Thank god." Shawna collapses onto the bed as Tara and rolling away onto her side. "Good luck. There was a shootout at some park. I think we're getting the brunt of the gang members."

"Hey, Shawna said something about a shooting?" She says, braiding her hair back and jogging to catch up to her fellow residents.

"Yeah. Gang violence. As usual." Someone scoffs and they hurry to catch up with the other doctors, rushing through the emergency room.

"We've got a 17 year old with a gunshot wound in the shoulder over there, a 23 year old with one in his thigh right there, grab a bed, any bed, let's see how you guys do on this." A short doctor with wispy hair orders in a surprisingly loud voice. Tara and her fellows wash up, putting on gloves.

"Hi I'm doctor Tara Knowles I'll be attending to you today are there any allergies that I need to be aware of I will be administering a mild numbing solution to your leg and then I will retrieve the bullet-" She rattles off monotonously and the youth in the bed closes his eyes.

"Thanks." He mutters quietly and she glances at him.

"Let me know if you need anything." She says quietly, her heart softening. He cracks an eye.

"Got any meds stronger than that stuff?" He asks and she smiles slightly, pushing the plunger so that the numbing agent enters near his wound.

"We do not." She mutters, sponging away some of the blood.

"That's a lie, this is a hospital. You've got that good shit. You're holding out on me doc." He says and she can't help that the corners of her mouth quirks up. He reminds her of the men she left.

"Sure we've got it, but you're going to have to do something more impressive than a little bullet wound in your thigh to get anything more than an ibuprofen." She says and he chuckles.

"I like you. You're funny." He says and she manages to tune out the chaos of people surrounding them, focused on extracting the bullet.

"Well they were looking for funny when they accept me into med school." She comments and he inhales sharply.

"Damn well they weren't looking for your skills cause that hurts!" He complains and she drops the bullet onto the table.

"You're fine, it was a minor wound, not very deep. It didn't hit bone, major arteries, or nerves. Once I stitch you up, you'll probably be walking soon." She reassures him, cleaning the wound.

"You get a lot of gunshot wounds?" He asks and she hides her smile.

"This is Chicago." She quietly begins reading for stitches.

"Yeah, you're right." Quietly, he leans back and broods. As Tara works to close the hole, she doesn't let herself think about it, any of it.

She can't let her mind wander to the first bullet she ever extracted. The man with gritted teeth, biting down on a towel to stop himself from screaming. Her shaking hands in cheap gloves, Jax's muttered reassurance that she was doing amazing, she was doing great.

A procedure she'd only ever read about it books suddenly come to lift in a poorly lit bar, with vodka as her cleaning agent. It had been at the very end of her and Jax's relationship, the dry spring where it seemed like a single match could send all of Charming into a blaze. Just like her and Jax. He had encouraged her to do the procedure she'd only ever seen in books, his desperate way of showing her she did have a place in the club.

Her hands had shook and she'd felt like throwing up afterwards, but the bullet came out and the stitches held. Jax had kissed her head and told her how proud he was of her but she knew that she didn't want this. She wanted clean hospital beds and sterile instruments as bright and shining as her future.

"Dr. Knowles." Her instructors voice makes her jump. He's inspecting her work with furrowed eyebrows. "Very nicely done."

"Thank you." She says quietly, finishing the stitches.

"It's like you've done this a time or two." He jokes, clasping her shoulder and she manages a weak smile back.

* * *

 _Piney and Lyla_

"Hey old man." Lyla's teasing voice makes him tense up, but he fights to keep an impassive face as he stares into the depths of his whiskey.

"Lyla." He says lowly and she sets Piper's bag on the couch, looking around. "Where are the kids?"

"Well Ken is with a friend, Piper is with my mom, and Ellie is at a cheerleading camp for the next-" She checks her watch. "43 minutes, then I'll have to go pick them all up."

"So what are you doing here?" He doesn't mean for the question to sound so harsh, but it slips out. Lyla doesn't even flinch.

"You're closer than my house." She says breezily. "And I figured you could use some help around here."

"With what?" He grunts and Lyla glances at the mountain of dirty dishes in the sink then back at him.

"Opie just mentioned you might want some help." With that, she shrugs and walks into the kitchen. Piney walks into the living room, eager to avoid any more small talk with her.

It's not that he doesn't like the young woman. She's sweet, she's funny, and she's hot as hell, even he can appreciate that. Had it been any other circumstances, he would've genuinely liked her. But he can't bring himself to let anyone in, not with Donna's death still so raw.

As Lyla hums and washes dishes, occasionally asking him polite questions, he thinks back to when this use to happen. Tuesday afternoons, when the kids were at school and Donna had the afternoon off. She'd clean the house or cook him a couple meals, just checking in and making sure he'd survive another week.

He'd let himself get attached to Donna. Let her in, saw her as his daughter. She was sweet and gentle and kind, everything Mary hadn't been. She'd loved Opie, her kids, and Piney. The ache of losing her and the sting of how it happened is still too great for him to let anyone else in.

The smell of something cooking distracts him from his alcohol and television. He looks up and notes with surprise that Lyla is bending over the oven, inspecting something. The dirty dishes are gone.

"You making something?" He asks and she glances over her shoulder, smiling. He's never noticed how white and straight her teeth are.

"Yeah, I thought I would bring the kids over here for supper, since Op is off doing club shit." She explains. "That way, you'll have leftovers too."

"You don't have to do this." He folds his arms.

"Do what?" Her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"I know Opie thinks I need someone to take care of me, but I don't. He doesn't need to be sending you over here for this." He says bluntly and Lyla ducks her head, wiping her hands off.

"I'm not here because Opie told me to be." She says quietly. "I'm here because I want to be."

"Why's that?" He demands, squinting at her.

"You're Opie's father." She states. "Besides maybe Jax, you know him best. In your own strange way, you're close."

"I don't know your definition of close, but my son and I certainly aren't it." He says flatly.

"Well, he still respects your opinion." She replies. "And I want you to have a good opinion of me."

"Why the hell does mine matter?" He takes another sip.

"Because you're his father. And Ken and Ellie's grandfather. And I love him. And I love them. So I'm going to love you. No matter how many dishes I have to wash or how many hospital visits I have to drive you to, I'm going to do it. Family right? That's what the whole club thing is about?" She points out and he grimaces at her point.

"Family is sticking around when things go to hell." He tells her. "When things are terrible and awful." A brief flash of Donna bursts into his brain. "That's when you're really family."

"Alright then." Lyla grabs her purse off the couch. "Watch the roast, I don't want it to burn."

"Jesus Christ." He says when the door slams and he can hear her car pull out. Then he heaves himself up off the couch.

"Hi grandpa!" Ken yells as they run into the house.

"Hi Piney!" Piper yells, following Ken, his little backpack flopping.

"Kids." He mutters and Lyla and Ellie follow. He looks up and sees Ellie smiling up at Lyla, talking animatedly with her hands. Lyla is listening intently, smiling and nodding her head.

"And then we learned to cheers that they actually cheer at the football games." She says as they walk through the doors.

"Are you going to be like them then? Do you want to cheer?" Lyla asks and Ellie hesitates. "Cause I think you'd be great at it."

"Really?" Ellie says, delighted. Lyla beams and kisses her head.

"The roast is ready." He says, trying not to break up their moment. He gestures helplessly with the oven mitts. Lyla grins and takes them.

"Piper, will you grab the forks? In that drawer." She gestures to the silverware drawer. "Ken, the plates are in that cupboard. Ellie, do you want to grab glasses?" The kids scramble, setting the table and bickering at Lyla places the food on the table.

"I don't like carrots." Piper reminds her and she points to Ken, who sticks his plate out. Piper scraps his carrots onto Ken's plate, grinning.

"If you don't eat veggies though, you don't get dessert." Lyla warns him and grudgingly he spears a couple carrots, chewing them with a frown. Lyla nods in approval.

"Dessert?" Piney asks.

"We're getting ice cream." Ellie says happily, eating a potato.

"Want to come with us?" Lyla offers and Piney looks down at his trembling hands and empty whiskey glass.

"I don't think…" He says quietly.

"Please grandpa?" Ken asks, looking at him imploringly.

"Yeah, you should come!" Piper says and Lyla points to more carrots. Pouting, he takes more.

"We would love to have you." Lyla says quietly.

"Fine." He agrees and the kids all cheer.

"Hey, where are you?" Opie asks and Piney cradles the burner phone between his shoulder and ear to help Ken before his ice cream can drip.

"Getting ice cream."

"Getting- what? With who?"

"Is it Op?" Lyla asks, wiping Piper's chin. Piney nods. "Tell him that I can take the kids tonight."

"Lyla. She says she can take the kids." Piney relays and Opie's stunned into silence for a moment.

"Oh. Ok. Well, tell her thank you. Um, kiss the kids. I'll talk to you later." Still sounding a little disorientated, Opie hangs up.

"Everything ok?" She asks quietly, ruffling Piper's hair. He nods and she smiles slightly. "Good." She smiles at Ellie. Watching her guide the kids back to the car, laughing and smiling at them, Piney is surprised at how much his heart has softened towards her.

"Hey Lyla." He says as she parks in his driveway. She looks at him. "Thanks for today."

"Of course." She says, her smile growing. "And I'll be back next week. I'm guessing there's a whole hell of a lot of laundry somewhere."

* * *

 _Cherry and Sack AU_

She sits on the plane, nervously fumbling with her new papers. Her Irish passport, giving her the name Kiera O'Donnell, expertly forged and ready to provide her with a new life stateside. With Kip.

Even thinking about him sends a pleasant shiver up her spine. His smile, his laugh, his curls, what it's going to be like to see him in his kutte. She keeps thumbing through the papers, her stomach turning.

"Passport." The lady on a stool says, sounding bored. Trying not to look too guilty or nervous, Cherry hands the passport over. The woman glances it over for a brief moment then hands it back. "Alright, you're clear."

"Thank you." She says in a too loud voice, stumbling through to where the bags are waiting. She grabs the ragged suitcase she borrowed from Maureen and eagerly runs for the gate, where people are waiting.

"James!"

"Patrick!"

"Elizabeth!"

"Mary!"

"Cherry!" She hears her name amidst all the others and turns wildly, looking for him. For Kip.

"Half Sack!" She cries when she sees him. Still as tall, strong, and slightly awkward as she left him. She runs for him, jumping into his arms. He tangles his hands in her hair, kissing her passionately. Neither of them notices that people are staring at the young couple.

"C'mon, I wanna take you home." He says huskily and she bats her eyes, smiling seductively at him.

"And look at this." She says, tugging on his full patches. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any hotter."

"Well don't worry. You'll be taking it off." He tells her and she beams at him, clutching tightly to his arm.

"Tell me everything that's happened while I was gone." She orders and he frowns, trying to figure out what to tell her.

"Tig's a perv,"

"Expected."

"Gemma's still terrifying,"

"Of course."

"Jax and Clay made up I think."

"How'd that happen?" She asks with interest. Her time with the other Sons had given her a little background to the strange power struggle of Jax and Clay. He rubs the back of his head thoughtfully.

"Well there was this big fight…" He drives her home in the van. They talk to each other the entire way, but her hand remains on his thigh and his on her knee. He tries through Charming and up to a small house with chipped red shutters. He helps her out and grabs her suitcase.

"You bought a house while I was gone?" She demands.

"It's not much." He mutters. "It's small. Gotta fix the sink downstairs, it leaks a little. That kinda stuff."

"It's home Kip. For us." She says, looking imploringly into his eyes. He grins and runs a hand through her hair.

"Then let's go home." He takes her hand and drags her inside. She barely has time to see a small kitchen, a bare living room, and a bathroom before she and Kip lock themselves in the bedroom.

"I'm hungry." She whispers, nibbling on his ear.

"I'm sleepy." He responds without opening his eyes. "You know where the kitchen is, I'm napping."

"I don't know where the kitchen is because you didn't exactly show me around the place." She points out.

"I had better things to do. Or a better someone to do." He laughs when she rolls her eyes and pushes him with one hand.

"What do you want to eat?" She asks, kissing his neck. He pops an eye open hopefully.

"Eggs?"

"Why eggs?"

"I like eggs."

"Kip, we're not having eggs."

"Well then go shopping cause all I have in the fridge is eggs."

"Kip!" She says exasperatedly.

"Hey, it was either fixing the toilet or buying groceries and I figured you'd wanna pee so-"

"I'm going." She cuts him off, pulling her pants back on.

"When you come back we'll take a ride ok?" He offers and she smiles, bending down to kiss him again.

"Ok." She grabs the keys off the counter and heads for the corner mart. She grabs a cart and walks in, smiling as she grabs the biggest bag of Doritos possible. There were some things she couldn't help but miss almost as much as Kip. She continues down the aisles.

"Cherry!" She turns at the sound of Gemma's voice. The tall, dark haired woman is leaning on her cart, a small smile on her lips. "I heard you were back. Come here." She opens her arms.

"Hi Gemma." Cherry lets Gemma hug her and kiss her forehead.

"You've been missed." Gemma looks through the cart. "I see that you're already taking your man back."

"The way to his heart is through his stomach, right?" She jokes and Gemma quirks an eyebrow.

"I always thought it was through his dick, but I like where your head is at." She says and Cherry grins at her. "Things going good?"

"Great. Kip bought a house." She says, a hint of pride in her voice.

"I thought it was a fitting place for you to come home to." Gemma says and Cherry shakes her head, grinning. Of course the Queen had her hand in it. "But I'm glad you like it."

"I love it." Cherry corrects. "It's perfect. I'm just glad to be home."

"Well we're glad to have you home baby. I could use a couple more women like you around." Gemma hugs her again. "Go home. Cook for your man."

"Kip, do you want a salad or veggie meatloaf?" She yells, walking into the house. He appears, shirtless and with a smudge of grease on his forehead.

"I love you woman." He kisses her once more. "I'm so glad you're home."

 **AN:** Sorry my update is a day late! 4th of July weekend has my days all sorts of messed up. But of course I had to give Kip a happy ending cause I loved him. And I adore writing Lyla and post-Jax Tara. Leave me reviews pretty please!


	30. Season 3- Home

Episode 4: Home

 _"Does it have a garden?"_

"Daddy." Gemma says quietly, stretching up on her tippy toes to peer over the edge of Nate's desk. He sets his pen down and glances over at her.

"Yes Gemma?"

"Is it time to go to the garden?" She asks and he raises an eyebrow.

"Did you eat lunch with your mother?" She nods. "Did you clean up your toys?" Another nod. "Did you do your prayers?" She nods quickly.

"So it's time for the garden!" She says happily. Smiling, he stands up and offers her his hand.

"Yes darling, let's go to the garden." He leads her from his office out the back door to the sprawling garden. "What are the flower names?" He asks her.

"Well that one is a dragon scale." She points to a pretty orange bloom. "And that is unicorn dust. And a lace berry. And that one is my favorite, it's an extra big fairy doodle!"

"Yesterday it was a sparkly rainbow heart." He says in amusement and she frowns at him.

"No daddy, it's a different flower." She says seriously. He bows his head in acceptance and they continue their walk through the garden at a slow pace. Afterwards, Gemma helps him pick up branches, pull weeds, and prune the bushes. He quietly guides her and helps her.

"Should we pick some flowers now?" He asks and she beams, clapping her head and nodding.

"Yes! Mom's favorite!" She pulls on his hand until they reach the roses. She comes to a stop and looks up at him.

"You have your questioning face on." He says and she blinks.

"Why does mom like roses so much?" She questions, pointing to it, careful to avoid the thorns.

"Well her name is Rose." He explains. "It's a pretty flower. Sometimes hard to get. But a lot of beauty."

"Is mama beautiful?" She asks and he smiles, clipping the roses.

"Yes, she's very beautiful."

"Daddy?"

"Yes my girl?"

"Why do you love to garden?" She plucks a leaf and looks up at him with wide eyes. He smiles and takes her hand, guiding her back towards the house, the roses cradled in the crook of his arm.

"Because my Gemma, there's a certain appeal in knowing that we can make the world a prettier place with just a little hard work and effort. We garden here on earth and God gardens there in heaven. It takes the same amount of effort and patience and love and care to guide humans as it does to make a garden bloom." He tells her.

"So I'm a flower?" Gemma perks up, smiling.

"My flower." Nate kisses her head. "But yes you're my flower. I am raising you to be big and strong."

"And when I am big and strong I will have the biggest garden in the whole wide world." Gemma runs ahead of him and throws her arms wide, spinning and giggling. He stays out of her way, smiling.

"Then I'll come visit." He says, opening the door.

"You'll live there with me daddy." Gemma says, as if it should be obvious. She leads him to the kitchen, looking expectantly at the cupboards with the vases. Nate takes one and fills it with water, placing the roses in it.

"Should we go put it on your mother's dresser?" He asks and she nods, scrambling up the stairs, her laughter and chatter mixing with the sunshine and the smell of roses.

* * *

 _Opie and Abel_

"You know, I still can't believe you have a kid." Opie says and Jax glances at him, grinning and putting out his cigarette.

"Shit, I can't believe it either." He mutters, cracking his knuckles. "One minute it's just me and the next second I have this tiny kid."

"He'll grow. I remember looking at Ellie the day she was born. She could fit into my hand." He stretches his hand out in front of him, sizing it up. "I didn't think she would ever be bigger than that. Yet here she is."

"Hey, Op." Jax says suddenly and Opie glances at him. "I know the kid's in the toaster for awhile and we can't do anything until he gets out of it but I have a question for you."

"Yeah?"

"I know my family isn't religious- shit, I think we'd go up in flames if we somehow magically talked mom into getting close to a church- but I think that Abel… He needs a godfather. Someone to watch out for him cause Wendy isn't going to be there when I'm not and my mom can't raise him on her own." He says, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers.

"Jax…"

"I know you and Donna, you got your own kids but I just think that Abel-"

"Jax."

"If you don't want to, I completely get it, I just-"

"Jax!" He goes silent, looking at Opie, who's hiding a little smile. "I'll be the kid's godfather, of course I will. Jesus Christ, you're Kenny's godfather. This is what brothers do for each other."

"Christ, kids." Jax gives a little laugh. "Have you even seen Abel?"

"No, didn't want to burden you with that. Shit's been crazy enough as is." He mutters.

"C'mon." Jax stands, walking to his bike. "If you're gonna have a godson, you sure as hell gotta meet him." They ride for the hospital. On the way in, Tara spots them and walks over with a frown.

"Jax, Op, what's wrong?" She asks and Opie watches carefully as Jax steps up to her, murmuring reassurances. He sees the careful touch to her shoulder, Tara's gaze through her eyelashes, their heads bent together to talk. If he didn't know any better, he could be back in high school, watching Tara and Jax in the hallways, at parties, at bars. He wonders how long it'll be until they announce that they're back together.

He's always liked Tara. In high school, she was a refreshing change of pace from Jax's parade of girls, nameless, faceless, one-night girls. She had frowned at him, turned her back, and walked away. Jax had never been the same and he and Donna had the times of their lives watching it.

"We're gonna go see the kid." Jax says, raising his voice so that Opie can hear them. Tara raises an eyebrow.

"You haven't met Abel yet?" She asks, looking back at Jax.

"Been kinda busy." Jax says, giving her a look. "But thought it was high time he met his godson."

"Oh, Opie, congratulations!" Tara says, her face breaking out into a pretty smile. "That's perfect, Jax always said you'd be his first choice." A slightly awkward silence falls as they all recall why Tara knows that.

"I'll talk to you on the way out, ok?" Jax exchanges nods with Tara then claps Opie on the back. "C'mon." Jax moves with confidence through the hospital, familiar with his route.

"How long is he in here?" Opie asks him quietly and Jax gives a little shrug.

"It all depends on when his stomach heals." He says quietly. "When he's big enough, strong enough…" Opie doesn't press him. Jax opens a door and gestures for Opie to walk in.

The incubator is the focus of the room. Jax moves aside instantly and Opie walks towards the center of the room, transfixed. If he thought that Ellie was small, that notion flies out the window at the sight of Abel. If Ellie could fit in his hand, Abel could be supported by a finger.

His godson. Jax's son. It's a strange thing to see the offspring of his best friend, whom he's known since childbirth. His earliest memories involve Jax. He was there for the good memories. The awful memories. Save those months when his mother took him away, Opie can't remember a time without Jax.

He moves forward to the machine. It astounds him, the amount of effort it takes the baby just to breathe. His tiny fingers, tiny toes, thin arms and legs, head covered in a tiny SOA cap.

"Jax, he's…" He breathes.

"Small." Jax supplies, absentmindedly thumbing through a book Opie is sure Gemma has left there.

"No, he's perfect." Opie says and Jax looks up at him. "He's your son Jax. He's going to grow up with Ken and Ellie, we're going to be raising our kids, being better fathers than ours were."

"Shit, we can hope." Jax says, shaking his head. "Talk to him, I'm gonna go find Tara. I got a couple things to talk to her about." With a nod, he ducks out of the room and Opie is left with Abel.

"Hey." He says gruffly, just to fill the silence. "I'm… I'm your godfather." The word tastes strange in his mouth. "How's life in there? It's shit out here little man. You're safe in there. Your dad though, he'll protect you. He's been my first friend since he was about your age." He looks down and finds a tenderness sweeping through his heart. Abel reminds him of his babies. "I love him like a brother, kid. And I'll love you like a son."

* * *

 _Clay's arthritis_

He stands outside the bar wall, flexing his hand, staring at it in bewilderment. The ache in his hand has everything to do with the two men bleeding beside him, cursing and slinking away. This pain isn't the customary sting after a punch has been thrown. This is worse.

"Clay ma you ok?" Tig asks with concern and Clay brushes him off.

"Fine. Fine, I'm fine."

He runs his hands through Gemma's hair and bites back a groan of pain as his knuckles protest.

"What, what's wrong?" She asks him instantly.

"Nothing." He says firmly and she catches his hands, gently rubbing her thumb over the back of them.

"What is it?"

"I threw a punch, I probably bruised them. Maybe fractured a knuckle. It's nothing Gem." He assures her.

"That fight was weeks ago." She says with a frown. "It would've healed by now. It should've healed."

"I'm older. I don't heal as fast. Give it time." He says and she furrows her eyebrows at him.

"I think we should go in." She mutters, kissing his hands. The joints are red and warm to the touch.

"You want to pay for some doctor to tell me to stop punching out asshole's in the bar?" He raises an eyebrow.

"I'll pay a lot for peace of mind." She tells him. "C'mon." With Gemma's mindset, Clay knows the best option is to just follow. As they wait for the doctor, Clay tries to talk Gemma out of it.

"I don't need to be here Gem, it's stupid." She throws him a dirty look then puts on her best charming face when the doctor walks in.

"Let's take a look." The doctor inspects his hands. When did the pain start? After a fight. Was there pain before that? Well yes but it wasn't bad. Is it an ache, a string, a throb? An ache but not bad. Are they always this red, this tender? Most days, yes. The doctor takes a deep breath.

"What?" Gemma asks pointedly. "What do you think it is?"

"Arthritis." Every word after that is a jumble. He stares at his hands in disbelief while Gemma takes down name, numbers, specialists, and more. He flexes his hands, open, shut, open, shut. Then he looks to the doctor.

"How long can I ride?" He asks loudly, cutting across the conversation the doctor and Gemma are holding.

"Excuse me?" The doctor asks politely.

"Ride. Harley. Motorcycle." He gestures with his hands, miming how he would rev his bike. His hands ache at the thought of it.

"Well it all depends." The doctor says thoughtfully as if Clay's future doesn't rest within his answer. "Depending on how fast it progresses, it could be years or months, we will have to see."

"How. Much. Time." He says with gritted teeth.

"A safe estimate? A couple years. It'll get worse the more you do it. We can sort you on meds, but they won't complete take away the pain." He turns back to Gemma, detailing treatment options, smart enough to know that Clay doesn't care. He's lost in thought.

Can't ride, can't vote. That's all he can focus on. If he can't ride, his president patch will be ripped from his kutte in the blink of an eye. He will lose his spot at the table, he will lose what he fought for, shed blood for, killed for. The money will dry up. His livelihood will disappear. And he will fade from the cloth of the club, regulated to the same ranks of JT, Wally, and the rest.

"Hey." Gemma places her hand on his shoulder, looking at him in concern. He realizes the doctor has left the room and Gemma is holding a pile of papers in her arms.

"Sorry, thinking." He mutters. They get up and walk through the hospital, both of them in a sort of trance.

"Everything is going to be fine. Everything will be fine. Fine, just fine." Gemma is repeating this to herself, over and over again.

"Gem." He stops and takes her hands. She stops her muttering and looks up at him in surprise. "It's not going to be fine."

"Yes it will." She says firmly, kissing his knuckles. "We've gotten through much worse."

* * *

 _Nathaniel_

He was light, that's what she remembers most. He was the sunlight falling in lazy rays through the windows, speckled with dust. The warmth of a Sunday afternoon after church, the lazy drooping eyelids and limbs heavy with sleep, curling up in the sun.

Her little brother, Nathaniel.

Where Gemma was dark, with her thick, heavy hair and dark hazel eyes under thick eyelashes, Nathaniel inherited more of her father's looks. Fuzzy blond hair that always stood on end despite Rose's attempts with a comb and bright blue eyes, quick with mischievous.

They were always in trouble, the two of them. Whatever Nathaniel could dream up, Gemma could find a way to do it. They were fearless of Rose and her scolding, mostly because all it took from Nathaniel was one sweet smile and Rose would soften.

Nathaniel, her darling golden boy. Her perfect son. Gemma was never jealous that Rose so clearly favored Nathaniel. Nate adored his daughter and that was enough for her. Besides, it was easy to see why Rose loved Nathaniel, because Gemma loved him just as much.

He was sweet and kind to Gemma's loud and wild. Where Gemma was stubborn and aggressive, Nathaniel was caring and thoughtful. Gemma was the fire that would scorch the earth; he was the rain to soothe it. Their bond was like no other, the two of them.

She doesn't remember him getting bigger. She doesn't want to. She wants to keep him young and adorable forever. She still sees him as the little boy swinging from the treetops, laughing in the hot sun. He was light and laughter, not a sick boy in a hospital bed.

She never felt fear for him. Looking back, that was foolish. She should've been terrified of losing her best friend, her sidekick. She should've hugged him tighter, kissed him more, refused to let little petty arguments ever bubble up between them. She should've loved him.

But she had the same heart, the same family flaw, and she didn't waste a moment of time on thinking about what that meant for her. She saw Rose, strong Rose, and assumed that she and Nathaniel would be fine.

But of course it was her brother. He had too much heart. Light is too delicate of a thing. The darkness can't be hurt, but light can. It was so fast, so quick, one minute his laughter filled the whole room and the next she felt the silence would drive her mad.

She tries to curl up in the sunlight again, but there's a part of her soul that has gone cold and it will never be warm again.

* * *

 _"This is what killed your mother!"_

"Rose, come to bed." He says quietly. Rose, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, doesn't even look away from the window. The lines around her mouth are deepening with each passing hour. It's early in the morning, the inky darkness before weak sunlight will start its fight upwards.

"No." She says flatly.

"Rosie…"

"I'm going to be here when she gets home, Nate." The tone of Rose's voice is final and Nate sighs, going to the kitchen. He might as well make tea for her for the wait. His gut tells him it'll be a long one.

When dawn hits and Gemma is still nowhere to be found, Rose finally slumps into him and allows him to guide her to their bed. She sleeps fitfully and Nate watches her sadly.

Gemma's disappearance, while sudden, wasn't unexpected for him. He'd seen it brewing for weeks, with her glares and outbursts. She was ripe to run and it was only with an extreme amount of stubborn was Rose able to remain in denial of it all. Her fury at the discovery of Gemma's empty room seemed to Nate less directed towards the daughter and more towards herself.

When she wakes in the morning, she refuses to even acknowledge Gemma's gapping hole in their lives. She carries on as if there is not a care in the world. She makes Nate's customary coffee and fries bacon for breakfast.

"Rose." He says when she slides the bacon on her plate. "Do you want to talk about this?"

"About what?" She asks glibly, setting the pan to drip grease into the garbage and washing her hands.

"About Gemma." She goes rigid.

"No."

"Sweetie, we need to talk about what-"

"No!" Rose's voice is shrill. "She wanted to leave, so she left! She's hated it here since Nathaniel died, she's hated me!" She breaks off with a gasp and puts her hand over her heart. Nate gets up, worried.

"Rose, sit down."

"I'm fine." She snaps, pushing him away. "I'm fine, I'm just fine, can't you see that? She made her choice."

"And is our choice to let her go?" Nate asks, incredulous. "Without a fight, we're just setting her free?"

"She's an adult." A note of sadness has found it's way into Rose's tone. "She can do as she pleases. She's a willful child, always has been. Do you really think there's something we could say to bring her back?"

"No, but we can try. That's our duty as parents." He insists and Rose gives a short bark of laughter.

"Our duty." She says darkly. "Our duty to raise a god-fearing, respectful young woman. We failed."

"We love her. Unconditionally." Nate responds and Rose shakes her head, scoffing at how naïve he is.

"Unconditional love. Like the church gossips will understand that. They'll talk behind our backs about our lack of control. To lose one child, that's tragic. But to lose two? That's just careless." She says bitterly.

"You're worried about what the church will say when our daughter just ran off?" Nate asks in disbelief and Rose looks at him with folded arms and a steely glint in her eyes.

"What else can I worry about?"

"Our daughter!" Nate suggests. "Alone, wandering the streets, with god knows who, doing god knows what. You're not even a little bit worried about where Gemma could be?"

"Please." Rose's lips curl up into a sneer. "You don't need money to sustain you when you've got hatred in your heart and a will of iron."

 **AN:** Well hi, please forgive me for not updating last week- I found myself camping without access to the lovely internet! Please take this offering of lots of Gemma and leave me lots of reviews? Thanks!


	31. Season 3- Turning and Turning

Episode 5: Turning and Turning

 _Gemma's surgery_

"Don't stress your heart." Gemma grew up living by those words. They were just another method of Rose's control over her. Another way for her to run and rule Gemma's life with one glance of her cold, perfectly lined eyes.

"Don't run!"

"Don't jump!"

"No biking. No rollerblades. No playdates with those people. No swimming."

"Don't stress your heart!"

It wasn't until she was a little bit older that she rebelled against her mother's dictations. She'd climb trees, try to swing highest on the swing set, hang upside down on the monkey bars during recess, revealing in the fact that if Rose knew what she was doing, she'd throw a fit.

Then came that awful day with Nathaniel, when her world went upside down and he was in the hospital, struggling for every beat of his heart and she wanted to rip hers out and give it to him, to do something, anything to help.

It hadn't been enough. After that, Rose never had to tell Gemma not to stress her heart. It had turned to ice and then steel and there was no chance of it breaking anymore. Hearts were made weak by love and Gemma had none of that to give.

It thawed slightly when she met John. Yes, she loved his power, his escape, the way she could find freedom on the back of his motorcycle. But even when she felt their baby kick, Rose's voice played over and over in her head-

"Don't stress your heart."

It wasn't till Jax made his way into the world, with his fuzzy blond head and sleepy blue eyes that she realized her heart was going to live outside her body. It resided with him, with the pale, squishy, 6 pound 2 ounces baby that nuzzled onto her chest and slept there.

He stressed her heart but also made it stronger. Seeing him fly down the street on a bicycle, reckless abandon in those same blue eyes, it stressed her heart in a way Rose surely wouldn't approve of. But the pride, watching him run up to his father, unafraid of the guns and knives, that kept her heart together.

Her heart got split between two boys when Thomas was born. Double the stress, but double the pride. She never worried about her heart in those years. The happiness of her two boys was so great that she never would've thought to consider that the strong, beating thing in her chest would ever give out.

She didn't count on the one thing that kept her heart beating to disappear. To be ripped from her. The pain and devastation that comes when a part of her no longer existed in the world.

But against it all, she survived it. She got through it. The worst days of her life, worse than Nathaniel, worse than death. But against the odds she kept waking up each day. For Jax, her heart and soul, the one that needed her almost as much as she needed him.

"Don't stress your heart." But it is the first anniversary of Thomas's death and Gemma has been dreading it for weeks. Now it's here, she doesn't know what would be worse- going to his grave and facing the fact that there's only years and years to come of this or staying away and being an awful mother.

She eventually makes her way up and to her car. She doesn't want to face John or Clay or even Jax. She just wants to do this once on her own. So she picks herself up and drives to the cemetery.

She knows where his gravestone is by heart. Wars could wage and destroy every headstone and marker but Gemma knows where her heart is buried. Pure instinct guides her to her son.

He had died in the summer, those long hot months when the days seem to drag forever but the months pass in the blink of an eye. She was just doing her best, trying to love the boys while John was gone. It was her fault, she never yelled at them to not stress their hearts, Rose could've done it, she would've protected him…

No. She firmly cuts off that train of thought. She reminds herself that Rose lost a child too, lost her darling Nathaniel. Judge as she may from her lofty perch, she has no right to say anything. And, Gemma reflects with dark humor as she walks across the parking lot of the cemetery, this evens the score between them, 1-1.

Thomas's grave is awkwardly placed, an abnormality in the otherwise neat rows. It's clearly a hasty job, trying to fit a gravestone into a plot meant for elderly people. His scant years stand in stark contrast to the decades around him. A child is not meant to be buried here.

She sits on the ground and traces his name with trembling fingers. She knows she will cry, but right now it's just holding it back for as long as she can. What does she say to him? What does she tell him? The things that have happened in the year since he's last walked the Earth…

Does the world even know he's gone? Did they note the disappearance of the patter of his feet on the dusty ground, always barefoot, always running? Or does the planet keep spinning even when hers has stopped?

The tears come now. A year and so much has happened. What will happen in two, three, ten, twenty, sixty? Who will come tell him when she is gone, when Jax is gone? Thomas Teller will fade from the world, until he is no more and her heart breaks for that.

A lifetime without her baby, her son. The tears turn to sobs, the bone rattling, chest aching kind. She slumps against the tombstone and weeps, losing all control. Her heart thumps pitifully, but it is no match for her grief and as she thinks about the future that was lost, it gives up its fight.

In the blackness, there is peace. In the blackness, there is quiet. And in the blackness, there is rest.

"An elderly couple found her at the cemetery-"

"Very lucky the hospital is so close-"

"The surgery went well-"

"Her scar will fade-"

"She'll need time for recovery-"

"She really shouldn't be doing things that stress her heart."

And from the hospital bed, foggy with pain medication and drugs, surrounded by anxious men in leather kuttes, Gemma hears that and manages a wry smile.

* * *

 _"Who's Maureen Ashby?"_

"Who's that?" John asks, his eyes following a girl that is passing in and out of the edge of light the massive bonfire gives off.

"Which one?" The Irishman next to him asks, trying to see where he's looking.

"The girl, with the jeans and the black top." John tries to subtlety point and the man breaks into a grin.

"That is Maureen Ashby." He declares and John takes a sip of his drink then looks at him expectantly.

"Who's Maureen Ashby?"

"She, my friend, is one of the most connected girls in all of our beautiful city, if not country. She's as Real IRA as anyone can get. Her father was in it, pretty high on the council till he died. Brothers, couple of them have died for the cause. She's like royalty." He explains and John reflects that must be why she carries herself like a queen.

"Royalty." He repeats, losing himself in his drink. He doesn't want to think about royalty or queens or anything that reminds him of home.

"Hey." The woman's voice startles him when he's back in the bar, ordering another strong drink. He turns and his stomach does a little flip to see that Maureen stands in front of him, a small smirk on her lips.

"Hey." He responds, trying to seem offhand and uninterested.

"Maureen Ashby." She offers him her hand.

"John Teller." He automatically shakes it.

"Oh, I know who you are." She says with a coy smile. "You're the Yank that has everyone all riled up."

"I'm just here to do business." He says smoothly and her eyes crinkle when she grins.

"Aye, maybe. That business seems to be drinking all of the finest Irish beer you can." She observes.

"What can I say, I'm a man with many talents." He says with a smile.

"Smart man." She says approvingly, signaling for her own beer. The bartender hastily grabs it for her and she raises it in a toast with John. "To business." She says quietly.

"To new people." He says, tilting his head and clinking their glasses together. They both drink then Maureen appraises him.

"Why you here John?" She asks bluntly.

"Business." He repeats, nonplussed.

"Nah, you're not." She leans in, eyes searching his face. "I know that look, a man trying to outrun something. What are you trying to leave behind, John Teller?"

"Life." He admits. "All of it's lows, it's tragedies, it's heartaches and hurts. My mistakes, my failures, my past."

"Your past will catch you, no matter where you are. An ocean behind you doesn't stop it." She says wisely and John looks out over the men in kuttes, milling about with Irish.

"I know that." He says quietly and turns back to her. "But at least it provides space and clarity."

"And what do you see, with all this newfound clarity?" She presses, leaning against the bar and looking up at him with wide eyes. He takes a second to draw himself out of them.

"That my life is hurtling down a road in a direction that I feel helpless to change, even if I try. I'm like a boat in a storm. I must go where the winds take me."

"Is this the storm?" Maureen sweeps her hands out, gesturing to everyone that is gathered.

"That, and this." He taps his temple.

"I would expect anyone being conflicted with this." She agrees, shrugging.

"Are you?" He asks curiously.

"No." She says stoutly. "But how can I be conflicted when this is the only life I've ever known?"

"It's not easy to leave what you've been born into." He thinks of Jax, his wild eyed son, already fearless, how close Gemma holds him to the fire of SAMCRO.

"No, but it's a lot easier to find your peace with it." Maureen says quietly. "You look like you need some peace, John Teller."

"I haven't had peace in a long time." He purposely dips his head to drink so that she doesn't see the look in his eyes as he thinks about Thomas.

"Do you want to know where you can find it?" He gives her a look. "Come with me." She offers him her hand and slowly, he takes it. She leads him away from the bonfire, up through the stairs and halls of an old building, until he's climbing a steep ladder, bewildered.

"Maureen, where are we-"

"Call me Mo." She orders, not even faltering in her climb. "Everyone does."

"Ok, well, Mo, where are-"

"Shut up John Teller." With that, she opens a door and walks through it. He heaves himself up onto the landing then edges through the door, not sure what to expect. Maureen is standing on the roof of a building, her arms wrapped around herself, staring out over the expanse of the city.

"This is…" He says quietly, looking around in amazement.

"Peaceful." She supplies.

"I was going to say inspiring, but that works too." He agrees. The lights of the city twinkle, the noise drifts up to them, muted and indistinguishable, and the night air is fresh and clean.

"It's my place. Found it after my da died. Needed an escape. Still come up here when I'm feeling- how'd you put it? Like a boat caught in a storm." She smiles up at him sweetly and he's stunned at how young and pretty she is, with innocent wide eyes and a quick, playful smile.

"You're very sweet, to let me into such a special place." He mummers.

"I have a feeling you're going to be a very special man, John Teller." She stretches up onto her toes and kisses him deeply.

* * *

 _Tara finding out she's pregnant_

"And next Wednesday there will be a three hour workshop titled 'Dealing with Grief- How best to break the news to a family that their loved one hasn't made it through surgery'. All surgeons are invited to attended this and learn-" Some administrator is droning on and on about useless things but Tara isn't listening. She's too busy wracking her brain and noting the days when she and Jax had sex on the calendar in front of her.

It's a little inappropriate for a work meeting, sure, but Tara has a purpose. Besides, with two of her coworkers sleeping, a third on his phone, and several more absentmindedly doodling, she doesn't feel that she's missing out on much.

She is trying to remember if they used protection. Her birth control had lapsed and with everything that is going on, a pit stop to the pharmacy seemed to fall to the bottom of her list. Stupid, now that she thinks about it. Jax always seems to need her comfort more during times like this.

No protection during that week. When was her period? That week. Her birth control ended last month, which means that she should be covered until this month. Or right after? What week was it that Jax crawled into bed in the early morning and demanded her body?

All the calculations are making her head hurt. She's done this before and was filled with the same sense of dread, but not for the same reasons. She wants this baby, but how will she tell Jax? Fuck, how will she tell Gemma?

The meeting ends and everyone scrambles as fast they can to escape the boardroom. Tara checks the clock and realizes she has enough to time to get the test ran. She throws her papers and notes, including the marked calendar, onto her desk and heads for the lab.

"I need some blood drawn." She announces and the nurse looks at her in concern.

"Are you ok? Did something happen in surgery?" She asks in alarm.

"No, no, nothing like that." Tara reassures her. "It's actually for, uh, um, a pregnancy test."

"Oh!" The nurse's eyes go wide before a knowing smile crosses her lips. "Well of course Dr. Knowles, let's get that done for you. Have you taken a stick test?" She asks.

"No." Tara admits as they head to a room. "I want the most effective one first. No use in getting a false result and stressing myself out over it."

"Well of course." The nurse agrees and Tara lies down so her blood can be drawn. She tries to keep herself calm, reassuring herself that the sickness is just nerves. Nerves over Jax, over the hell that is brewing in their lives. She's just worried, she hasn't been eating well enough, she's simply stressed. That's why she hasn't gotten her period. Simple enough.

The wait for her results is agonizing. She has to remove herself from consultations and surgery several times, citing her anxiety. In truth, it's because every baby, healthy or not, sends her in a spiral of panic that one of her own is growing, slowly taking over her internal organs.

Jax's baby.

She wishes like hell Donna was here. She would've known what to do. She would've laughed and tugged on Tara's hand, giddily talking about baby names, rummaging through her own kids things for whatever Tara needs. She finds herself sobbing in her office chair, longing for Donna's advice and love.

When the papers finally arrive, all the anxiety slides out of her body to make way for dread. She avoids them like plague. She can't open them, not when she swings from loving what could possibly be in her stomach to revolting at the idea of it. Finally, she steels herself and sits down, picking them up.

With shaking hands, she unfolds them and looks at the results.

Pregnant.

She doesn't read anything else, because she has to run to the garbage bin to throw up. Trembling and in desperate need of water, she sits on the floor and rereads the results, trying to get it to sink in.

Pregnant.

That word changes everything. Changes her future, Jax's future, Abel's future, Gemma's future, SAMCRO's future. Everything will be different now. She and Jax have always been tethered together, the way that soulmates always are. But now, there will be a baby.

Pregnant.

Even as she reads it, she's not sure if it's true. The likelihood of test being wrong is so remote it's almost impossible, but she still thinks that maybe, maybe, it's all one big joke. That she can quick rewind time, to the moment it happened, and take it all back in heartbeat.

The ticking of her clock brings her back to real world. It's steady beat calms her down, forces her to breathe, reminds her that even though her world has slanted on it's axis, the lives of those around her march on. She sits up and chews mint gum, staring at the results in disbelief.

She use to long for Jax's baby, those nights she held Abel and knew her own features would never be found in him. She wanted her own flesh and blood, wanted to somehow feel like Jax would look at her differently. The mother of his child.

But now that it's here, she is filled with doubt. How could Jax still love her? Will he even want this? Will he be happy? Or will he be angry that she's somehow trapped him, done it at the most inconvenient time?

And Gemma, oh how Gemma will react. Tara wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Gemma could love it, accept Tara with open arms, delighted at the possibility of having another grandchild. Tara's tie to the club will be stronger. It'll be another bargaining chip for her against Tara and Jax.

Or she will be furious. She will accuse Tara of doing it intentionally, trying to influence Jax. What if Tara ever tried to take the baby aware? Gemma would sooner burn a town to the ground than lose Abel and this baby. She would guilt, blackmail, and barter with Tara to follow whatever she thinks is right.

Is she even ready to be a mother? Is Jax ready to be a father again? Can they even raise a baby right now? How could she bring an innocent child into this world? Should she talk to-

"Dr. Knowles?" A nurse pokes her head into Tara's office and Tara looks up at her from the floor, slack jawed. "Uh, is everything alright?"

"Yes." Tara says instantly, pulling on her smiling mask. "Yes, of course, I just wasn't feeling well."

"Well, if you're not feeling good, I'll get Dr. George to take your next appointment." She offers and Tara waves a hand.

"No, it's nothing I can't handle." She gets up and smiles, setting the results on her desk, sweeping out of the office.

 **AN:** Gemma! Maureen! Tara! All the SAMCRO women! (Can you tell who I think are the most interesting characters? But that's a discussion for another time.) Side note, to all my amazing reviewers, from everyone who leaves a quick "Love it!" to those that give me a three page analysis of each little story, I love you, I love reviews, and please leave me one!


	32. Season 3- The Push

Episode 6: The Push

 _"Should we do anything?"_

"I'm just saying, I think it's a shitty idea for a porn movie." Gemma tells Luann flatly, stirring her drink.

"Well, what do you know? Maybe there are farm boys out there in Kansas or Kentucky that want to see a hot young thing like you doing anal on a tractor." Luann argues and Gemma gives her a baleful look.

"It's not happening." She says and Luann looks like she wants to press the idea more but a roar goes up from the men gathered around a fire and they glance at each other.

"What do you think it is now?" Luann asks and Gemma shrugs, strutting over to the men, well aware that all eyes are on her, John Teller's new woman.

In the circle of men, a tall, dark haired man is charging a shorter, balding man. They collided like freight trains, violently punching, separating to get more space for their blows before being dragged closer. The cheers of the men surrounding them grow louder when a particularly good hit is landed, when blood is drawn, when the taller man wrestles the shorter one into a headlock and begins to choke him.

"Should we do anything?" Luann asks in alarm. Gemma, eyes glinting in the firelight, is watching with desire.

"No." She says quietly and Luann watches in astonishment as the short man passes out and the tall man drops him with a roar of victory.

"What the hell?" Luann mutters and the tall man wipes blood off his face, walking up to Gemma, grinning.

"John. Did you have to choke him out?" Gemma chides in amusement.

"Are you impressed?" John asks and kisses her. Luann just watches, shaking her head.

(-)

"Hey, how's your dad?" Tara asks Opie as he opens a cooler to grab another beer.

"How's yours?" He retorts automatically and she sticks her tongue out at him. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She forgives him easily, pulling her knees up to her chest and looking up at the sky. "We're both fucked up, that's why we get along so well."

"Having fun?" He guesses in amusement.

"This is my favorite." She gives him a wry smile. "It's fine. I'm just waiting for Jax to get drunk enough that he'll listen to me when I talk him into leaving."

"Well, he's currently challenging an old man to shots, so maybe that'll get him closer for you." Opie sits next to her on the cement blocks that line the parking lot of the bar.

"One can only hope." Tara muses. "Or I'll just keep hiding out here until he decides to be done and come get me."

"Things ok with you two?" Opie asks with concern.

"Yeah." Tara says in a tone that doesn't convince him. He simply raises an eyebrow and she spills. "I just, how do you and Donna do it? How too you make it seem so simple and easy? You never fight. It's always sunshine and roses and calm waters. Jax and I, it's storms and tornados and burning houses."

"You think Donna and I are puppies and daisies?" Opie asks in amusement and Tara gives a helpless shrug. "Tara, we're far from that."

"Well then you hide it better than we can." Tara mutters, resting her chin on her knees.

"That's because you and Jax are dramatic." Opie says evenly and Tara shoves him with one hand. "Ok, not dramatic. But emotional. Tara, you both wear your hearts on your sleeve so of course when something happens, neither of you waits until you're in private to have the fight. Donna and I do."

"And do you think that's better or worse?" Tara turns her head to look at him curiously.

"It's just different." He states. "You guys solve things a lot quicker. Donna and I, sometimes it feels like we let shit grow over time because we don't fight it out right away."

"Well, Jax and I, we fight the instant it happens." Tara broods and then the door to the bar opens and light spills out. A crowd of people, raucously cheering and yelling, are following a pair of men, swinging at each other. Tara and Opie both get up and make their way through the crowd when they recognize the long blond hair.

"Should we do anything?" A girl asks no one in particular, watching in concern as Jax's knee drives up and breaks the other man's nose with a sickening crunch.

"No." Tara and Opie say in unison, watching in almost boredom. The girl looks at them in disbelief as Tara turns back to Opie.

"But do you think I have a right to be mad at him when he does all these bullshit lies about not being with the club when he actually is?"

"You know Tara, in all honesty…"

(-)

"No, I want to run down the list of everyone in town and play the 'pregnant or just got fat' game." Willow declares and Jordan rolls her eyes, pulling out her phone.

"Are we doing just people in our class or everyone?" She asks and Willow takes a contemplative drink of her mimosa.

"Just our grade first." She decides and Jordan starts typing names in. They've made it to the M's before the gate to the clubhouse swings open and motorcycles start driving back in, following by the black van.

"Oh good." Jordan says with delight, shutting her phone off.

"No, not good." Willow says, narrowing her eyes and sitting up. "They shouldn't be back this early, this run should've taken them at least 4 mimosas, we've only had 2."

"Despite the fact that you're now measuring time in drinks, why do you say that?" Jordan asks and Willow glances at her.

"Because Abel said they weren't coming back till lunch. And it's not even 11 yet." She checks the clock and puts her glass aside. Jordan mirrors her and rises when the men storm towards them.

"Inside." Abel growls lowly and mildly alarmed, Willow follows. Bowen just grunts at Jordan, who falls in line with the men. She squeaks in shock at the sight of a man, bound with a bag over his head, being hauled out of the van, but Willow just sits atop the bar to watch.

"Sit him down." Quinn orders and he's roughly shoved into a chair, the bag on his head being ripped off to reveal a pale, thin man with scabs on his face, several missing teeth, and wild, unfocused eyes.

"Ok tweaker, you want to tell us why the fuck your information was bad?" Happy demands and Jordan is looking at Willow in alarm. She's watching it evenly.

"It wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't!" He babbles.

"Bullshit!" Happy punches him, hard, rocking the chair back. Quinn steadies the chair easily. "Then why the hell wasn't there any fucking-"

"Should we do anything?" Jordan hisses frantically.

"No." Willow says nonchalantly, watching indifferently.

"Willow, they're gonna kill him!"

"Oh no they won't." She scoffs. "He has to tell them where shit is first." While Jordan gapes at her, Willow reaches down and grabs a beer, tossing it to Abel. He catches it as he strides over.

"Thanks." He says crabbily and Willow absentmindedly scratches his beard.

"This why you're back so soon?" She asks and he nods, making a face.

"And we really need those fucking explosives." He grumbles and Willow pats his shoulder while Jordan looks at them in horror.

* * *

 _Jax asking Tara to help_

"Hey." Jax's voice in her ear makes her jump. She turns and raises any eyebrow, trying to feign calmness. Ever since Gemma found out her secret, she feels like she's on pins and needles, waiting for Jax to find out.

"What's up?" She asks him in concern.

"We need your help." He admits, pulling her into a quiet corner of the hospital. Tara notices the plural, meaning Jax isn't speaking to her as her boyfriend but as the vice president of SAMCRO.

"With what?" She asks with concern.

"We need a doctor." He reveals and her brow furrows slightly. "Not you." He hastily clarifies.

"What kind of doctor?" Tara asks and he awkwardly rubs the back of his head, sighing.

"We have some illegal prescription drugs we need to sell." He admits and she stares at him, flabbergasted.

"Why?" Is the only word she can get out of her mouth.

"We don't have anything else to sell." He tells her. "So we have no other way to get to Abel." The name twists the dagger in her heart a little deeper.

"If the money's for Abel, then of course." She says automatically and Jax looks at her in surprise.

"Tara, are you thinking about this?" He demands.

"Yeah, I mean, I've got a couple people in mind, I need to make sure that they're actually going—"

"Tara." He cuts her off loudly. "I mean like actually thinking about it Tara. What it could do to your career, your reputation, everything. Are you thinking about this, really thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'll do it for Abel." She says sharply. "If it's going to help my son, how could I not Jax?"

"Ok." He says, stunned. Tara gives a curt nod and storms away.

* * *

 _The life of a crow eater (during the raid)_

"Hi." A brunette with perky boobs and bright pink dyed into her bangs bounces up to the bar. "I'm Lucii. L-U-C-I-I. Two I's." The woman wiping down glasses looks at her in resigned amusement.

"Your mama give you that name?" She asks with one quirked eyebrows, setting the dry glass back in the cupboard.

"No." Lucii makes a face. "Shelly's my real name. But who the fuck wants to be called Shelly?"

"Fair point Lucii-with-two-I's. I'm Nicole with one E." She gives the girl a slight smile. "How can I help you?"

"Well, Star told me to come see you." Lucii points out the girl cleaning up empty beer bottles on the pool table. "She said all the new girls usually check in with you."

"You came with Star." It's less of a question, more of a statement. "I knew I hadn't seen you in here before. She's following Happy, isn't she?" Nicole looks at her with a critical eye.

"I think so?" Lucii says uncertainly. "She was my roommate for the last couple months, we'd been hanging around in Tacoma, but we got in some trouble with the landlord and a guy up there and it just got messy, so we thought we'd come down here and start something new."

"Well Charming is a little different than Tacoma, you know that." Nicole throws her a clean rag and they get to drying the rest of the dishes. "Things work differently around here."

"You've been a crow eater for awhile?" Lucii asks curiously and Nicole's mouth twitches upwards.

"Almost as long as Gemma. With her in the hospital and Luann gone, I think I'm in charge." She nods to one of the girls that is restocking the fridge.

"Who's your guy?" Lucii questions and Nicole gives her a look. "I mean, in Tacoma, the girls, we usually had one guy that we hung around."

"Well, welcome to Charming." Nicole pops the top off a beer and hands it to a guy that walks past without saying a word. "You go with any guy, you get that?"

"Of course." Lucii says automatically. "I just thought, well, maybe that there'd be one—"

"There's always one that comes to you more than others." Nicole admits. "For me, to start, it was Piney. Sometimes Bobby. They come and they go. They're not going to stay loyal to you. Understand that real quick or it'll lead to a broken heart."

"I don't think I have a heart." Lucii jokes and Nicole just keeps her straight face.

"Well, if you do, don't even let yourself give it to these men." She warns her and Lucii opens her mouth to ask her something but the doors burst open and men are yelling-

"GET DOWN! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW, GET DOWN, GET DOWN ON-"

"What the fuck?" Nicole demands, kneeling and raising her hands. Lucii, looking shellshocked, is doing the same.

"Get down, facedown!" A man brandishing a gun and a bulletproof vest screams at them and Nicole looks at him in disbelief before putting her cheek to the sticky floor.

"But it's gross and-" Lucii is protesting next to her and the man slams his knee into her back, forcing her to lay down.

"Lucii, do as your told." Nicole hisses and wincing, trying to catch her breath, Lucii nods. She can hear the club yelling, can distinctly hear Clay above everyone else, but the sheriffs, agents, and officers keep them on the ground.

"Get everyone outside." A loud voice orders and they're roughly hauled up and escorted out of the clubhouse.

"C'mere." Nicole orders, grabbing the girls, pulling them off to the side. Lucii is wiping her cheek in disgust, Star is nursing a red, bruised elbow, Tracey has a cut on her forehead, but otherwise they're ok. "Everyone fine?"

"What the fuck is this?" Kendra asks, fixing her top and glaring at the uniformed men milling about the clubhouse and garage.

"I don't know." Nicole makes eye contact with Clay and exchanges nods. "But it's gonna be a bitch to clean up." The joke at least makes the girls relax a little and laugh. Nicole nods approvingly, listening as the girls protest among themselves at law enforcement's abuse.

"You good?" Bobby asks, drifting over.

"Fine." She says shortly. "We whole?"

"Yeah." He nods and they stand shoulder to shoulder, watching as men and women search through the shop.

"Anything we should be worried about?" She asks lowly.

"Not your issue." He says shortly.

"Just checking." She says evenly.

"We'll work it out." Bobby says gruffly and she just nods, aware that it isn't her place to keep asking. "Keep the rest of you from doing anything stupid."

"I'll do my best but it doesn't help when your boys are dragging fresh girls from Tacoma here, pinker than the day they were born and just as stupid." She says sharply and Bobby raises an eyebrow, looking at Star and Lucii.

"Well I sure as hell don't mind something fresh." Bobby comments and Nicole gives him a dirty look.

"Then you can tell Gemma about them." She retorts and he chuckles.

"That's your job." He reminds her and walks back to the men.

"My job." She echoes. "My fucking job." With a sigh, she goes to guide the girls back into the clubhouse, groaning at the sight of broken glass, overturned tables and chairs, and general chaos.

* * *

 _Why Ima wants Jax_

"Why does it have to be Jax?" Lyla asks, bending down to fix her silk stocking that's slipping down her thigh.

"Why'd it have to be Opie?" Ima retorts, adjusting her boobs in the pushup bra and inspecting her lip gloss.

"Opie isn't in love with a doctor and doesn't have a baby with a meth head." Lyla reminds her.

"No, he just has a wife that was murdered and two kids with her." Ima puts her hands on her hips and stares down Lyla, who bites her lip. "Why do you even care?"

"Because I'm friends with Tara." Lyla states, folding her arms. "Or at least I'm really trying to be. And she's a good woman and she loves Jax. So why are you so obsessed with trying to ruin that?"

"I'm not trying to ruin it." Ima says, rolling her eyes. They walk towards the camera, stilettos clicking against the concrete floor. "I just don't care about it."

"But why Jax?" Lyla repeats. "Why do you have some obsession with him? Every guy wants you."

"Not Jax." Ima snaps, sitting on the bed and understanding washes through Lyla's body.

"You want what you can't have." She realizes. "Jax doesn't want you, that's the only thing that makes you want him."

"Sure, whatever, can we shoot now?" Ima says crabbily. Lyla ignores her.

"You've got some power trip going on in your head. You think you're the alpha female and you should be with the alpha male." She's saying then stops and glances at her. "If you think Tara isn't an alpha, are you forgetting that she shot your car?"

"No." Ima bristles. "But a guy like Jax shouldn't be with a bitch like her. She doesn't even realize what he is!"

"He's powerful." Lyla sits down on the chair, picking up the magazine, letting another girl fix her hair. "And you just love power don't you?"

"Why are you making it seem like a bad thing?" Ima pouts, rearranging the pillows on the bed. "If I'm the hottest girl in the room, I deserve to be with the hottest guy in the room, don't you think?"

"Not if it comes at the expense of another woman!" Lyla protests.

"So you're saying you wouldn't have gone after Opie if his wife was still alive?" Ima points out and Lyla gives her a cold look.

"No. Because Opie loved her. And I would've respected that. I'm not going to be a home wrecker like you." She says icily.

"Places!" The director yells and everyone scrambles into position. Ima flips her hair over her shoulder with a smirk.

"I am what I am and I want what I want. It's not my fault if little Ms. Plain Jane Doctor can't handle her man." She says, faux innocently.

 **AN:** Man, say what you will, but Ima is a stone cold bitch. Plus Opie! Willow! Crow eaters! Reviews! (Please)


	33. Season 3- Widening Gyre

Episode 7: Widening Gyre

 _Thomas Wayne Teller_

"Why the fuck is that man never here when I need him?" Gemma rages and Unser looks at her in terror. She's leaning against the counter, clutching her stomach, dark hair wild. "Thank god Jax is at Piney's, he'd never- WAYNE, WHY AREN'T YOU GRABBING MY BAG?" She bellows.

"Gemma, honey, I don't know what bag you're asking for." He admits timidly and she points to the large black one on the kitchen chair. "Oh, well then, we can go."

"You think?" She glares at him as he picks up the bag and takes her elbow, guiding her to the police car in the driveway. She slides into the passenger seat and breathes deeply. He throws the car in reverse and backs out.

"How are you feeling?" He asks her.

"Like I'm in fucking labor Wayne, how do you think?" She snaps. "Can't you speed it up? The lights, something?"

"Well, we're not really suppose to use them unless it's important."

"I AM HAVING A BABY I THINK THAT MIGHT BE IMPORTANT." Obediently, Wayne flips on the sirens and presses harder on the gas pedal. Gemma closes her eyes and concentrates on keeping her breathing steady, rubbing slow circle on her belly.

"Gem, no offense, but why'd you call me?" Wayne wonders, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes. Her breathing and strokes don't change.

"Because the club is gone. And I didn't know who else to call." She admits quietly and cracks her eyes open. "You're the only one."

"You got a hold of John?" She grits her teeth and scrunches her eyes shut, one hand gripping her seatbelt.

"Called the charter where he was going to land next. They'll turn him around the second he rolls in." She tells him, once the pain subsides. "Christ Wayne you're a police officer, no one is going to pull you over, GO FASTER!"

"Ok, ok!" Tires screeching, they pull into the hospital parking lot. Gemma sits, helpless, until he grabs the bag and hauls her out of the car. She waddles into the hospital, making nurses scatter.

"I am having a baby." She says, in a far calmer voice than she'd been using with Wayne. "So you need to get me in a fucking bed as soon as possible or I will have this baby, right here, right now, on the floor."

"There it is." Wayne mutters, catching her elbow when Gemma wavers slightly. "Can we get her in a wheelchair?" As the young nurse, who looks terrified at the idea of having to be near Gemma wheels one over, Gemma grabs Wayne's arm and looks up at him imploringly.

"Don't leave me." She says and for a second he sees past the steel biker queen and back to the young girl Gemma once was, with sparkling eyes and an easy smile, running through town with Nathaniel hot on her heels.

"Of course darling." He agrees instantly and follows as the nurse pushes her towards the maternity ward.

"And get a hold of John!" She yells as they get in the elevator. He raises his hand in a weak goodbye before sighing and rubbing his face.

"Jesus Christ." He mutters than goes to find a phone. Once he manages to find the number and leave a message that John should in no way continue on with the run but come back to Charming ASAP, he walks back to Gemma's room.

"Sorry, family." The nurse apologizes when he walks in.

"He is family." Gemma mutters, her arm thrown over her eyes. "Wayne, come in."

"How ya feeling?" He asks, edging around the nurse and peering down at her.

"Like I'm about to squeeze out another damn kid, without my damn husband again." She grumbles.

"I left another message, I think he'll get the point to come home Gem." He says with a hint of a smile.

"If he wants to live, he will." Her hands clench the hospital sheets. "When am I going to get some damn drugs?"

"Mrs. Teller you're not ready." The nurse apologizes then looks ready to duck whatever Gemma will throw at her.

"And you're not ready for the kind of hell everyone in this hospital will be in if you don't give her what she wants." He warns the nurse, who looks between the pair of them and bobs her head, racing out of the room.

"Thanks." Gemma mutters.

"Just trying to keep you from burning the place down." He jokes, taking a seat beside her bed. "How you really doing Gemma?"

"Scared." She admits grudgingly. "Another baby Wayne, I still can't hardly let Jax out of my sight and now another one?"

"It'll be fine." He says reassuringly. "Everything is going to be just fine."

"I hope you're right." Gemma closes her eyes and tries to relax.

"It's about damn time you're here!" He yells, hours later, when he sees John in his kutte, striding down the hallway.

"Sorry if she's ripped your hand off." He apologizes good-naturedly, clapping him on the back. Unser watches in disbelief as John pushes the door open and Gemma's fury can be heard even through the wall.

He takes up pacing in the halls, not sure if he should leave or not. Part of him doesn't think it's appropriate, now that John and the club is here. But the other part of him refuses to go anywhere. He started this with Gemma. He deserves to get to see it through. So he waits and paces.

"Hey, Unser." John finds him outside, having a smoke.

"Hey, how is she?" He demands, standing up as if he's been electrocuted.

"Good." John smiles, ducking his head. "Another boy."

"Hey, John, that's great." Unser shakes his hand.

"Wanna come up and meet him?" John offers and he nods, following John back up to the baby room, with all the newborns. Gemma is keeping watch over a certain one.

"Hey darling." He says quietly, once they're close enough she can hear him at a whisper.

"Oh, Wayne." She smiles shakily at him and gives him a hug.

"How's the little fella?" He asks, looking in amazement at the tiny baby.

"Good. Doctor's are all worried about his heart, but he's here." She says, her voice trembling slightly.

"He'll be a fighter." He promises her and she nods, not taking her eyes off her second son. "So what'd you name him?"

"Thomas." John mutters, stroking his son's cheek.

"Thomas Wayne Teller." Gemma clarifies, watching Unser for his reaction. He just looks at her, floored. "Thought he could use a little bit of you in there, since you're why he's here." She says gently and he tries to convey his feelings without words, wrapping her in a hug.

* * *

 _Gemma realizing John has a daughter_

The first feeling is disbelief. John would never cheat on her. At least, not like this. He was too loyal, too much of an idealist, always saw the good in things. He wasn't cynical or selfish or spiteful like her. He was good.

Well, not too good. Otherwise they never would've lost what they had. But the timelines, she's trying to remember when he went to Ireland, when he went back, when he went to jail, when were they happy, when were they not?

They had met in 1978. Jax came that same year. 1984 was when Thomas was born, but they had been rocky for months before. He had been their attempt to patch things over, fix them, remind them of the love they'd felt when Jax had been young. When did he go to Ireland for the first time? 1987.

She remembers because Thomas had been turning three and they were in the middle of a big fight and Jax, even at the tender age of 9, had taken him to the park to get away from it all. John had left and they hadn't spoken until he came back.

Did he love her then? Was he aware that he'd gotten another woman pregnant? Did he even care? No. What had happened next? He had went back. For her? The baby? His daughter? For guns, for club business. That's when they'd came home with a shipment, assembling it in the clubhouse, and ATF had burst in, taking them down where they stood. 1988, the year John Teller had a daughter and the year he went to jail.

Then Thomas's death. 1990. Her darkest year. She was glad that John was in prison. She handled it herself, without having to pick him up. Did he go back to Ireland? Yes. After he got out. Late 1992, because he nearly missed Christmas. She would've been what, 4? Was she walking? Talking? Calling him daddy?

He got a second child when her's was ripped away. Did he even grieve Thomas? Or was he too busy missing the little girl across the ocean? Did he even care? He had already replaced him with someone else's child.

The thought makes her sick. She vomits into the garbage, stomach heaving. John had had another baby. With another woman. While married to her. And he had taken that secret to the grave, the grave that Gemma had dug for him. Heart racing, stomach turning, a cold sweat beading on her forehead, she raises a shaky hand to wipe it away.

The second feeling is rage. How dare he? He just broke their vows, broke them in two like it didn't matter at all. Not that she'd even kept them, but a child is different. A child is more.

She is furious. She wants to upturn the whole room, throw chairs until they break. He crossed her like that? He took away the one title that nearly mattered as much as queen. She was the mother of his child, the mother of the princes of Charming and SAMCRO. This other one, she is a bastard, in every sense of the term. And she will do best staying in Ireland, far away from Gemma's domain.

She knows she needs to calm herself down or her heart will give way again. She tries to breathe, struggles to calm herself back down. He is dead. He is gone. His mistakes haunt her as they may, will remain in the past with him.

The third feeling is one of smugness. At least she took more from him than he ever took from her.

* * *

 _"The prince doesn't always get his way!"_

Opie sits down next to Jax with a thud.

"Why the frown?" He asks flatly.

"What frown?" Jax asks, feigning ignorance.

"The 'my girlfriend isn't here so I'm throwing myself a pity party' frown." Opie clarifies and both of them duck when a beer can goes flying overhead.

"I'm not having a pity party." Jax protests, without missing a beat. Opie simply raises one eyebrow.

"You've had two beers in the last hour. Usually we're on beer number four by now. Pity party." He sums up and Jax glares at him.

"I'm not having a pity party cause Tara's not here." He says stubbornly. "I'm just not in the mood to party."

"Well I should write that one down, mark the date, it's a historic occasion." Jax punches Opie hard in the shoulder.

"Don't be an ass Op."

"I'm just saying, you're never this mopey." He narrows his eyes at him. "Should I ask if you guys are fighting again?"

"We're not fighting." Jax mutters. "Well, at least, I don't think we are. Maybe. Sorta. I'm not sure anymore."

"Ok, what the fuck does that mean?" Opie asks bluntly and Jax groans, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Tara, she's killing me!" He spills and Opie simply listens. "She wants this, she wants that, we can't do this, we can't have that. She has all these rules and boundaries and she expects me to stay in them."

"Like what?" Opie asks curiously.

"She won't meet my mother, she won't meet Clay, she doesn't want to touch the club with a ten foot pole, she won't let me kick her father out of the damn house, she's so damn stubborn." Jax growls.

"Tara." Opie says fondly and Jax gives him a look. "She's the first girl to tell you no, I respect the hell out of that."

"My mom tells me no." Jax mutters.

"Ever think that's why you like Tara so much?" Opie points out and Jax ignores this connection.

"I mean Op, she says no to everything! Christ, I don't I've even felt her boobs." Jax pouts while Opie roars with laughter.

"Seriously?" He says in disbelief and then whistles in appreciation. "I love this girl."

"It's maddening." Jax complains, his eyes wandering towards the girls making out in the corner as guys cheer them on. Opie snaps his fingers to get Jax's attention back.

"She's making you work for it. Damn, that's gotta be a change." He chuckles.

"How the fuck do you even do it?" Jax wonders and Opie snorts. "Like, people are going to start talking Op."

"That what, Jax Teller respects a girl long enough to get to know her favorite color before he fucks her?" Opie raises an eyebrow.

"It's purple." Jax admits grudgingly and Opie looks at him in astonishment. "But that's beside the point."

"Why do you have to sleep with her this soon, it's only been like a month?" He asks, genuinely curious.

"Haven't you and Donna?" Jax looks at him and when Opie shakes his head, his jaw drops. "Are you kidding me?"

"Donna isn't ready." Opie says steadily. "And I'm respecting her enough to wait."

"Girls." Jax says in frustration and Opie rolls his eyes.

"Maybe you could have a little romance with her." He suggests offhandedly, taking a drink of his beer. "Flowers. Dates. Chocolate. Teddy bears."

"I thought guys only did that shit in chick flicks." Jax says with palpable disgust.

"Well, sometimes that shit works." Opie informs him and Jax grumbles under his breath, kicking an empty beer can.

"I don't wanna." He whines and Opie glares at him. "I don't know how to do this!"

"Well figure it the fuck out." He orders and Jax glances at him, surprised at how annoy Opie is. "You were the one who said that Tara is so different from all the other girls, that's why you're taking her seriously, all that. So treat her like it!"

"I just…" Jax rubs his face. "Fuck, I don't know how to date Op! I've never done it before!"

"Oh I know." Opie takes another drink. "Treat her like you'd want Clay to treat your mom."

"Oh." That seems to get through to Jax. A thoughtful expression crosses his face. "Ok, yeah. And then hopefully the physical stuff will come!"

"God, I hope not." Opie comments, staring straight faced ahead. Jax cocks his head to the side. "It's good for the prince of Charming to not get his way."

* * *

 _"Don't even bother trying boys, trust me, I've been there."_

Clay has given Tig many tasks since he became Clay's Sargent at Arms. Some, Tig has embraced. It doesn't bother him, killing the enemies of the club. Torturing men for information or punishing them for lying, cheating, stealing. All of that is fine with him. Natural, in fact. But sometimes Clay gives him jobs that leave Tig floundering.

"Take care of Gemma!" He had called, as he'd hopped on his bike to go meet with a gang leader in the park. "Make sure she doesn't fuck anything up!"

He could've told Tig to go skin kittens and he would've had an easier time with it.

"Gemma, Gemma, Gemma," He says, jogging after the dark haired woman. She keeps walking, eyes straight ahead. He's honestly surprised fire doesn't spring up from the ground where she steps.

"Don't try to stop me." She warns and Tig does just that, sending up a silent prayer to whatever god that she won't knee him in the balls. He inserts himself between her and the car door with an apologetic smile.

"Now is this really for the best?" He asks and she looks ready to punch him. He's ready, and expecting the blow, because experience has taught him that if anyone can throw a mean right hook, it's the Queen of Charming.

"Get out of my way." She orders and he stays where he is, instinct shrieking at him to leave but Clay's orders rooting him in place.

"Gem, I can't do that."

"Don't call me Gem!" She snaps. "You're either staying here or coming with, take your pick."

"Gemma, I really can't let you leave." He tries to infuse as much apology into his voice as he can. "Clay wants you to stay here."

"You think I give a shit what he wants?" She demands and Tig mentally reminds himself that physically tying Gemma to a chair would be frowned upon.

"Can we not do this for once?" He wonders aloud and that gets him a slap. He just sighs, ignoring the stinging on his cheek. "Gemma-"

"Get in the car Tiggy. I don't like you enough to not run you over if I have to." She threatens and Tig would call her bluff, except he's not 100% sure that there is one.

"Can we at least discuss this?" He requests and if looks could kill, he'd be dead, buried, mourned, and forgotten.

"The only thing to discuss is if you're getting in the car or going back to the hookers inside." She snarls and there's a crowd gathering, watching. It's a rare occurrence to see anyone stand up to Gemma.

"Clay wants you to stay here." He repeats, because he knows that's the one leg he has to stand on in this fight. Hell, if it was up to him, he'd have let Gemma squeal out of the clubhouse hours ago.

"In the car-" She gestures to the car behind him. "Or in the strippers." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the clubhouse. "Pick."

"Gemma…" He whines and she starts adjusting the rings on her hand and he curses Clay for being a showoff and buying Gemma such a massive diamond, because he is really not in the mood to take a punch from it.

"Get in." She commands and he wavers, wondering who's wrath he fears more, his President or his Queen. Then with a sigh, he moves out of the way and runs for the passenger side so she can't leave without him.

"Your husband is going to kill me." He informs her as she careens through the streets of Charming, navigating with the ease of a native.

"I don't care." She says stoutly and he just rolls his eyes and hangs on for dear life because Clay might not even get the chance to kill him- Gemma's driving might do it first.

"Can we not do this?" He questions, when she slams the car into park in front of the porn studio.

"I thought you'd be excited to come to your own personal Disneyland." She says, voice sickly sweet and he wants a damn beer for dealing with this but instead he gets out and follows her inside, where she starts screaming at one of the women for whatever it is Gemma yells about.

"What are you doing here?" One of the girls asks him and he gestures helplessly to Gemma, who has turned her rage on Luann. Tig commends her for standing up to Gemma's rage remarkably well.

"I am simply her handler." He says and the girl appraises the situation.

"I don't think you're doing a very good job." She says stoutly and he frowns at her. She grins and then picks up a dildo, heading back in front of a camera.

"Gemma, enough!" He yells finally and Gemma glares at everyone before gathering her things and stomping out.

"Lets go." She says hotly, slamming the door behind her.

"Can I at least drive so I'm not riding bitch?" He asks and she glares at him, shutting that idea down. "What the hell was that even about?" He asks, once she's fuming but at least driving back to the clubhouse.

"That bitch thinks that she can-" She starts and Tig waves a hand.

"You know what, no. I don't want to know." He declares, waving a hand. "I don't even want to know. In fact, the less I know the better. And if Clay asks, I did this all at gunpoint." Without taking her eyes off the road, Gemma raises a small pistol and points it at his head. "Exactly." He says, grinning fondly at her.

 **AN:** Oh, I love Tig so much. And Unser! And Trinity! More on her later. Leave me reviews, cause soon we're going to Belfast!


	34. Season 3- Lochan Mor

Episode 8: Lochan Mor

 _Trinity_

She's three the first time she asks her mother about her father.

"Mama," She hangs on Maureen's hand as they walk to the park to play.

"Yes, Trinny my girl?" Maureen asks, smiling down at her sweet daughter. The sun is actually out, it's shaping up to be a nice day, and for once, she's happy.

"Who is my da?" The words stop her in her tracks. Trinity still clings to her hand, looking up at her with wide eyes. John's eyes.

"Why do you ask?" She questions and Trinity shrugs, skipping along towards the park, pulling her mother with her.

"Because all the girls in Sunday School, they have a ma and a da and I don't." She states, matter-of-factly.

"You have me. I'm your ma." Maureen says firmly and Trinity nods, dropping the subject for a moment to instead focus on the fact that flowers have pushed their way up around the park.

When she's five, she hears her mother's heart break and doesn't understand why.

"And we learned our numbers today, I can count the highest of anyone in the class." Trinity announces proudly, kicking her heels on the counter. Maureen smiles at her, sweeping the floor. "Do you want to hear how high I can go Ma? One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-"

"Maureen." Her uncle appears in the doorway and Trinity breaks off counting in delight, running for him. He scoops her up, but his attention is focused on her mother.

"Aye?" She asks, still going about her business in the shop.

"It's Charming." He says and Trinity doesn't understand why the words make her mother go rigid. She especially doesn't understand why the next words make her collapse on the ground. "John was hit by a semi and killed. He's dead Mo."

"Mama!" Trinity cries, aware that something is very wrong. She fights to escape her uncles grasp, but he holds her tightly, watching silently as her mother weeps.

"Come along Trinity. We need to leave your mother." He takes her to the church and tells her to pray, but she doesn't. She anxiously waits for someone to take her home.

At 13, she asks her mother again about her father and receives a very different response.

"Ma," She carefully pours the tea. She'd made dinner, her mother's favorite, finished all her homework, cleaned her room and the shop, and made tea, all with the hopes that she's get her mother to talk. "I have a question."

"Yes Trinny?" Her mother is distracted, reading the newspaper, a little furrow between her eyebrows.

"Can we talk about my da?" The only clue that her mother heard her is the way her hands clench on the newspaper, making the paper wrinkle.

"Why?" Maureen asks, her voice carefully controlled.

"Because we never have and I'm not a child anymore!" Trinity doesn't mean for her tone to sound whining, so she takes a deep breath. "I just don't think it's fair to me that I have to live with this secret."

"It's not your secret." Maureen's voice has the warning note in it, the one that use to scare her as a child. But this time she stands firm, refusing to back down.

"Then tell me."

"He was a good man." She breaks slightly, folding the newspaper with trembling hands. "He loved you."

"That's not what I meant ma." Trinity says, frustrated. "What is his name? Where is he from? Why isn't he here? If he's such a good man, why doesn't he want to be my father?"

"Trinity!" Her mother gets her name out before she dissolves into sobs and Trinity watches, shocked.

"Ma, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" She stammers and her mother waves a hand, getting up and walking to her room, slamming the door. The sound of the lock clicking into place makes her jump. Slowly, unsure of what just happened, she starts to clean up the mess she made.

* * *

 _Chibs on Irish soil_

He sits in the back of the cargo plane, his knees nervously jangling up and down, his hands folded in prayer, his mouth silently reciting an old Irish cradle song he'd sung to his daughter, those blissful months when she was small enough to fit in the crook of his elbow, just so.

Sleep, my babe, lie still and slumber,

All through the night

Guardian angels God will lend thee,

All through the night

Soft and drowsy hours are creeping,

Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,

Mother dear her watch is keeping,

All through the night

God is here, you'll not be lonely,

All through the night

'Tis not I who guards thee only,

All through the night

Night's dark shades will soon be over,

Still my watchful care shall hover,

God with me His watch is keeping,

All through the night

He repeats it over and over, trying to picture Ireland in his minds eye, bracing himself to walk on it's soil again, feel it's sun, it's cool breeze rolling off the ocean, the lush greens, the stark cliffs, the pensive aura that imbued every surrounding.

And his girls. His beautiful, kind, strong, perfect girls. The beauty of Ireland is wound up in Fiona, her hair as curly as the winding roads, her voice as smooth as whiskey, her eyes the color of the wood they built their home with. His home, his wife, his country. Is he ready to see them all again?

Juice and Happy are laughing, playing card games to pass the time. Jax tries to rest, flopping from side to side on a small cot, clearly restless. Clay and Gemma have their heads bent together, likely plotting something or anything. Bobby drinks. And Chibs, he just worries.

He hasn't seen his home in years. He doesn't remember the smell of spring, that delightful day when finally, green pushes up through brown and gives them hope. He doesn't remember the smell of flowers in the garden, stew on the stove, wet wool hanging up to dry in the winters. He doesn't remember any of it and he feels as though he has betrayed everything about himself.

Charming has become home now, in it's strange way. The hot summers, the blistering heat, the brown landscape. It's what he sees every night before he closes his eyes, not the hills of Ireland and it breaks his heart. He never thought he'd see Ireland again and he vows, this time he will appreciate it's beauty.

The plane begins it's descent and everyone is getting terse now, waiting for what's to come. Their nerves are a world apart from his- they see this as a mission, to retrieve Abel and walk away with their dealings with the Real IRA still intact. He sees this as so much more.

Slowly, the ramp lowers, agonizing in it's torture of him. He just wants to see the Irish sky, if it's robin egg blue or cold steel gray. Finally, it hits the ground and they stride out and Chibs is home. Home, in Ireland. He turns his face to the weak sun and closes his eyes, drinking every drop in.

There's no time for more. There are brothers to greet, bikes to ride, and miles to go before Belfast and Abel. So he follows them, getting on a strange bike and falling into his place in line. They ride, SAMCRO looking about with interest and Chibs looking about with joy and sadness, rolled into one.

He's forgotten the beauty that is a small town nestled in a valley, tall church spires and whitewashed walls. The twisted and knotted forest, the trees that could tell stories a thousand times over. The rolling and cresting hills, the wild, unplanned streets, so different from the linear ones of the States. Untamable Ireland, his home.

At every stop, every pause, he takes the chance to look around, soak it all in, tries to press the memory of it all back into his brain, for those nights when he is alone and in Charming's stifling heat, longing for the feel of his Ireland.

It's like Ireland knows one of it's own has returned after a long departure and it pours it's efforts into making things perfect for him- the sound of church bells when they ride through one small town sound just like the church of his youth. The trees stretch overhead, reminding him of the ones in the front yard in the home of his youth. The day is neither hot nor cold, the perfect Irish temperature, if not a slight bit damp.

With a bike below him and Ireland around him, for the first time in years, Chibs closes his eyes and feels free.

* * *

 _Flashback to when John rode in_

It had been a hot day, Maureen recalls. So unlike Ireland, but it had been warm and muggy, the kind of day that calls for shorts and hair pilled on top of her head. The kind that makes waiting in anticipation even worse.

She had known something was going on. She could've sensed it, from the way everyone was walking on eggshells, talking in low, terse voices. She could've sensed it, but she had also overheard her brother discussing it some man, how a biker gang from the states was coming.

She didn't know why. She didn't want to know why. For all her snooping and eavesdropping, Maureen liked to keep her nose clean of Real IRA's business. She'd seen what it could do to a person, keeping those secrets. Saw what it did to her father. So she keeps herself removed from it.

She's in her mother's shop, god bless the woman's soul, sweeping out from under the produce, when a rumble like thunder starts to grow. She tosses the broom aside, walking to the window and staring in awe. Down the hilly, winding roads, comes a pack of bikes.

They almost look like a herd of wild horses, all different but with the same untamed look, moving in unison, without doubt or hesitation. She stands in the doorway, watching in amazement, hardly caring that she's staring outright as the bikes round the corner.

The leader catches and holds her attention. He looks content on the bike. His motions trickle back to all the other men; if he turns, they do. If he speeds up, they do too. He sets the tone and that appeals to Maureen almost as much as his dark hair, his bright eyes, and his black leather kutte.

As they pass the shop, he glances her way and a small, knowing smile creeps onto his face. She refuses to blush, just adamantly watches, shamelessly appraising them. When they pass, she leans out the doorway to watch as they disappear around a corner, wondering how this will change things.

And nearly 20 years later, she stands in the same doorway, in the same shop, watching as the same club roars past, feeling the same thrill in her stomach that things will never be the same.

* * *

 _Willow_

Tara had talked her out of the abortion. Had told Lyla that Opie isn't some random lowlife junkie pornstar, he's the love of her life. Had suggested that maybe a baby, new life, would be exactly what Opie needs to realize that there is good in the world. And had validated all the reasons Lyla had wanted to keep the baby in the first place.

So now here she sits, absentmindedly rubbing her still flat stomach, watching as Piper, Ken, and Ellie eat, bickering about some TV show. She keeps checking the clock, knowing that Opie will be home soon from sending the men off to Ireland.

"Guys." She says warningly, when the noise level rises a little too high. They quiet back down quickly and she can't help but imagine what it would be like for a baby's wails to join the chaos. Fear grips her tight once more. Opie will never want this baby.

"Opie is the sweetest guy." Tara's voice echoes in her head. "There's nothing he loves more than his kids, trust me. If you don't think the timing's right, then it's not. Who am I to judge? I just think you should tell him, because he loves deeper than he seems."

"Daddy!" Ellie yells, when Opie walks through the door. All three kids leap up, clambering for his attention.

"Ok, ok guys." Lyla chides lightly as Opie picks Piper up, hugs Ellie, and pats Ken's head. "Give him some breathing room."

"It's fine." He says quietly. "What did you guys do today?" They all chatter loudly over each other, Ellie telling him about her classes attempt to get their teacher to buy them a bird, Ken talking about the kickball game at recess that he won, and Piper wondering if they can have ice cream and watch a movie.

"If you hooligans leave him alone and go in the living room, I'll bring you ice cream." Lyla bargains and with shouts of joy, they scramble out of the kitchen. "Ellie, put in a movie please." She calls, opening the freezer to get ice cream out.

"How was your day?" Opie asks her as she spoons three bowls full of vanilla ice cream.

"Good." She keeps her voice carefully neutral. "Went to the clubhouse, talked to Tara."

"What'd she have to say?" He asks, flipping through mail and as much as she wants to break Tara's secret to make her own look not as bad in comparison, she keeps it. Tara is a friend and she will not break her trust.

"We discussed some things. Ireland, Abel, you, those kinds of things." She reveals carefully.

"What'd you guys have to say about me?" He asks, eyebrows raised.

"That you're a great dad." She says, getting caramel for Ellie's bowl, chocolate syrup for Ken's, and sprinkles for Piper's. He smiles, a little bemused, and cocks his head slightly. "Because I'm pregnant." She blurts the announcement out then fairly runs for the living room.

"Thank you." The kids chorus and she sits down in the large chair, watching the opening credits for some animated Disney movie, curling herself into a tight ball. She waits for Opie to emerge from the kitchen but when she hears the noises of him making himself leftovers to eat, accepts that he will need more time, no matter if that sets her teeth on edge.

She's dozing when she hears the soft noises of him picking up the kids' dirty dishes. A few moments later, she hears the dishwasher start. She keeps her eyes shut, even as she's drawn out of sleep at the sound of him carrying the kids to bed. Finally, after his third trip, he comes for her.

He hoists her up easily, holding her close to him as he makes his way to their bedroom. He tucks her into bed, getting ready himself before joining her. She holds her breath, still pretending to be asleep, waiting to see what he will do.

An arm slides across her waist and pulls her securely to him. A brief, tender kiss is pressed to the back of her head and then there's quiet, for a long couple minutes. She's almost truly back asleep when he begins to speak.

"I didn't know I even wanted you, baby. I never thought I would. I thought I would be angry, mad, resentful. I thought I would tell her to get rid of you. But I didn't. And I can't. Because I want you. I want you to remind me there are good things. I want you to remind me of light and love and happiness. I want you." His fingers trace a pattern on her stomach. "I think if you're a girl, I'd like to call you Willow." Lyla buries her face in the pillow and beams.

 **AN:** And we go to Ireland! Fun fact, this show makes me wanna just throw my hands up and move to Belfast. Lots going on in this chapter, please leave your thoughts!


	35. Season 3- Turas

Episode 9: Turas

 _Gemma stomping out Jax's soft side_

"Mrs. Teller." Jax's teacher greets her with a smile and a handshake. "Come in, sit." She gestures to the only other adult sized chair in the bright classroom and Gemma sits, crossing her legs and looking about.

"You said on the phone we needed to talk." Gemma cuts right to the point and the teacher's features freeze into a forced smile. She shuffles papers for a moment, flinching.

"Yes," She says firmly. "About Jax."

"What about my boy?" Gemma asks, trying not to get defensive.

"Jax is a great student." The teacher leads. "He's a smart kid, always thinking outside the box. Very creative. Articulate. Always offering up his thoughts and opinions."

"But." Gemma says flatly.

"But we've been having some issues with him and the more, how do I say it, sensitive boys." She says slowly and Gemma wonders if it would be wildly wrong to start laughing.

"Sensitive boys." She repeats, arching an eyebrow.

"Well you see, Jax has a certain… Thing he does." His teacher says slowly, fiddling with her pens. "Most of the boys, when someone steals whatever toy they're playing with, or sits in their chair, or does anything to upset them, they cry, they tattle to me, or they pout. Jackson-"

"Fights." Gemma doesn't mean for the pride to be evident in her voice, but it is.

"Well, yes." The teacher's brow furrows at how Gemma knows that. "He never gets a teacher, he never cries, he just fights to get back the toy, his chair, pencils, whatever it is."

"And why is this a problem?" Gemma asks, leaning forward onto the desk. The teacher looks shocked.

"Mrs. Teller, your son is getting in fights with other children!"

"From what you're telling me, I'm just seeing my son holding his own against children that are stealing his things or doing other bad things." Gemma leans back and folds her arms, a triumphant sneer on her face. "Is that so wrong?"

"You cannot be telling me you condone your five year old using violence to get his way." The teacher is aghast and Gemma rolls her eyes.

"Don't get all dramatic. Jax isn't violent, he's just not one of those watered down, sissy boys that everyone seems so hell-bent on protecting these days." She declares. "My kid is protecting himself. I fail to see how that is so wrong."

"We cannot accept violence in our schools." The teacher is trembling now. "Jackson is a sweet boy and I think that with a little parenting and guidance, we can stop this behavior before it gets out of hand."

"Out of hand." Gemma echoes, distain creeping into her voice. "And tell me, what does that look like?"

"Jackson is incredibly smart and articulate. I can see that this behavior, it's more a whiplash response. If allowed to continue, I can only see him becoming more and more violent." The teacher admits and Gemma thinks of Jax, running to hug John and Piney, fearless of the guns and knives that his father and uncles carry on themselves.

"Are you telling me I'm raising my child wrong?" Her rage flares up and the teacher cows instantly.

"No, of course not, no, I'm just, I'm saying," She takes a deep breath and tries to gather some of her composure back. "I am worried about your child and his behavior. If Jax doesn't learn to settle things through peaceful resolution, there will be serious issues down the line."

"Or," Gemma says bitingly. "You could teach kids not to steal other kids toys. My son will continue to do whatever the hell he damn pleases, do you understand that?" She glares down at the teacher, who is wide eyed in awed fear.

"Mrs. Teller-"

"Don't Mrs. Teller me." Gemma snaps, getting up. "My son will never be some sensitive child." She sweeps out of the room, a smirk on her face.

* * *

 _"Look in to arresting the guy whose family has been trying to shut down the MC for two decades."_

Jeremiah Hale was a powerful man and he liked everyone to know. It began with his name. Judge Hale. That's how he expected everyone to address him, in the courtroom and out. It was how he introduced himself to new people. If he wrote a column in the newspaper, that's how it got credited. Some even joked that it would be the name on his tombstone and he really didn't see a problem with that.

He held sway in the courts. He held sway on the City Council. He held sway on the school board. No matter where you looked in Charming, the touch of Jeremiah Hale was evident. He had worked to build it up, investing here, investing there, smiling, shaking hands. It was a perfect little oasis, a gem, and it was all his.

Except for the bikers that rumbled down Main Street, that drew rowdy crowds to the bars on Saturday nights, that swaggered into stores and shops and restaurants. The 'protectors' of Charming. The Sons of Anarchy.

"Can't anyone enjoy a nice quiet Sunday brunch with their family after church?" He demands loudly in the diner. The noise of motorcycles is rising to a crescendo and though they can't see them, they will be able to soon.

"Dear." Mary Hale mutters out of the corner of her mouth. She's staring down resolutely at her pancakes while their young sons kick their feet and glance at their father anxiously.

"No, I'm sick of it." He declares, anger rising. "We get out of church, good, god-fearing people and want a meal with our families." He looks around at the patrons of the diner, some of whom are meeting his eye and nodding, other's who turn and look away, more interested in their hash browns than his statements.

"Dad." Jacob's voice is small. "Can we just eat?" He turns to his youngest son and frowns, opening his mouth to give a lecture, but then the noise of the bikes cuts off. As couple moments later, the door above the diner jangles cheerily and in walks a large family.

Family is a term that can be used loosely. There's a father, with a small blond boy clinging to his hand. There's a mother, her belly rounding into a growing bump. But then there's more, there's tall men laughing, arms slung around scantily clad women, grinning and talking loudly.

"Diana." John Teller pauses at the woman sitting alone, his son yanking on his arm. "How are things?"

"They're going good." The little old lady's face crinkles into a smile as she looks up at him.

"Your knee feeling better?" John asks and the concern in his voice is real.

"Oh, the surgery went fine dear. Just recovering, a little slower than I want." She assures him, waving a hand.

"Well if you need any helping planting those flowers this spring, you give me a call, ok?" Gemma asks and Diana shakes her head.

"No, you shouldn't be kneeling either dear." She rests a hand on Gemma's large belly.

"That's what I've got them for." Gemma jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the men sliding into the large booth with a sly grin.

"You let us know if you need anything, alright?" John covers Diana's hand with his own and smiles at her. She smiles back and nods before John shepherds Jax into the both, squished between him and a short man who rubs Jax's head until the boy laughs and fights him off.

"Why am I the only man in town that sees past this mask?" Judge Hale growls and Jacob and David both sit up a little straighter, hoping to get a peek at the man they've heard their father rage about for so long.

They don't look awful, Jacob Hale thinks to himself. They look happy. Happier than his family, with his quiet, ailing mother, his plotting and scheming father, and his brother that only too happily follows after his father.

John is laughing and playing a silly game with Jax, jumping white pegs over each other until only one remains. Jax childishly wants to sword fight with them and John goes along, pretending to be mortally wounded when Jax jabs him in the shoulder.

Gemma is ordering for everyone, chiding the noisy men and smiling apologetically at the waitress, one steady hand on Jax's shoulder to keep him quiet. The waitress laughs when Jax asks sweetly for extra bacon and Gemma reminds him he can hardly finish a plate as is.

Jacob suddenly wishes for that cozy warmth, the affectionate squeezes and teasing. He looks back at their own table. His seething father, fearful mother. No love between them. His mother glances up and sees his downcast face. She offers him a tentative smile.

"Eat your breakfast, Jakey." She says quietly. "You'll be hungry before lunch if you don't."

"Ok mama." He says quietly, tearing his eyes off of Jax and his family, eating his sausage.

"Mark my words, they will go down." His father is still muttering, shaking his head in distaste at the sight of all the leather, studs, beards, and tattoos. "Who do they think they are, frequenting a family establishment?"

"Dale." John rises from the end of the booth to shake a short, plump man's hand. "How are you?"

"Better now." Dale says seriously. "Thanks for helping me with that, uh, problem."

"Of course." John says warmly. "Any time."

"Hey, you coming to the picnic in the park next weekend?" Gemma asks and he gives a little half shrug.

"We're thinking about it."

"Well bring Patsy and the kids." She encourages. "We're making burgers."

"I'm sure she'd be delighted." He says and a second later, Diana cries,

"Oh, John!" She stands up, her purse swinging, wiggling her finger at him. "You didn't have to pay my bill."

"You have a good Sunday Diana." He says, grinning and waving.

"You're too good." She's beaming.

"I don't get why dad hates these guys so much." Jacob says lowly to his brother, watching as John fends off Diana's attempt to pay him back.

"Because they're criminals." David says back harshly. "And criminals deserve to be behind bars."

"I think they look nice." Jacob observes, watching John pat Dale's back and walk Diana to her car. When he reenters the diner, he kisses his wife's head and pulls Jax onto his lap, talking quietly to him.

"They're white trash." His father says sharply. "Never forget that. Let's go." He drags them out by the hands and John Teller doesn't even seem to notice the glares that are thrown his way.

* * *

 _Kerrianne_

"Kerrianne!" The name breaks through the hazy morning light like a shock and she groans, wanting desperately to roll back over and hide her face, but she knows better. "Get up!"

"I'm coming." She grumbles, even as she's pulling the covers up a little tighter over her shoulders. She closes her eyes and tries to settle back into the bed, but the sound of a sharp rap on her door makes her groan even louder.

"Do not make me come in there young lady." Her mother's tone has crossed from annoyed into stern territory and she knows if she pushes it, she'll get, in succession, annoyed, stern, frustrated, angry, outraged, furious, and then freezing cold punishment. So she rubs her eyes and swings her legs out from under the comforter, sitting up wearily.

A couple more blinks to clear her hazy vision and then she's fully awake, shivering in the slightly chilled morning air. She gets up and stretches, her elbows and back popping as she does. She leaves the window cracked open, walking into her bathroom.

She observes the messy nest of her hair with faint amusement. There's no controlling it, there never has been. Her mother use to comment ruefully that she'd gotten her thick hair and her father's wildness. No comb could stand the test of time against it.

She splashes cold water on her face, jolting her senses and mind. She looks into the mirror, carefully inspecting her face for any blemishes. Her skin, nearly the same tone as her mother, remains unblemished.

"Filip's skin." Her mother had once said proudly, as teenager years arrived and her friends and classmates grew angry red bumps.

"Ma," She had laughed. "I look just like you!"

"Aye." Fiona had gently brushed her hair away. "You do. But your da, never knew what zit was a day in his life! Best skin I'd ever seen. Just like you." And then they had grinned at each other before sadness set in and erased that.

She shakes her head to clear the past from today and brushes her teeth. As she does, she wanders around the bathroom, glancing out the small window. Dreary skies overhead, a slight chill in the air. She smiles as she leans over the sink to spit. Ireland.

She gets dressed for the day, throwing on jeans and a tee shirt, with layers over it. She grabs her favorite stocking hat as she walks out of her room. Before she can shut her light off, she pauses, turning back to her mirror.

Tucked in the crack of the life side is an old, crinkled photo. It's a dark haired man, in the middle of a giant belly laugh. In his arms, beaming, in a little girl in a cream dress. An Easter Lily is clutched tightly in her hand.

Easter, when she was 7. She remembers it like it was yesterday. a memory, tucked away for a rainy day. Her pretty dress, brand new. Her da, plucking an Easter Lily from the alter when they walked up for communion and presenting it to her with a wink. Her ma's scolding and laughter. When she thinks of happiness, she thinks of shinning shoes, new dresses, the voices around her raised in a Catholic hymn, and white Easter Lilies.

She briefly kisses the tips of her fingers and presses it to image, right over her father.

"Miss ya, da." She whispers.

"If you're not down here in two minutes young lady, you're not getting breakfast!" Her mother's tone is quickly slipping towards angry, so she grabs her bag of books and runs.

"Right here ma." She says, sliding into her seat at the breakfast table. Jimmy is there for once, reading the paper and mostly ignoring her.

"Eat quick or you'll be late for school." Her mother orders quietly, sliding eggs onto her plate. Then she turns and dishes up Jimmy, going back into the kitchen to get orange juice and milk for them. Kerrianne scarfs the food down as fast as she can, one eye on the clock.

"Kerrianne." Jimmy folds down the paper and stares at her. She swallows egg and clears her throat.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to be out of town for the next couple days." He announces and she stays still, frowning slightly. "So behave for your mother."

"Of course." She says quietly and he nods, satisfied. She glances at her mother, mystified, but with a short jerk of her head, she's warned not to press it.

"Run along now child, school bells are ringing." Fiona mutters and she nods, pushing away from the table and pulling headphones out of her bag.

"Oh and Kerrianne?" Jimmy says mildly and she turns, hesitating in opening the door.

"Yes?" She asks unsurely.

"Have a good day at school." He flips the paper back up and she relaxes.

"Bye, I love you." She whispers to her mother, kissing her cheek. Then she bursts outside and onto the street. She pauses on the steps, sticking her earbuds in, then sets off down the street, bobbing her head to the music.

She's always loved music. Church music, Irish music, trashy European club music, all of it makes her heart soar. Today she skips to something pop and upbeat, mouthing along to the words as she walks to school.

One song ends and she glances down to see what's next when she falters. It's a version of the lullaby her father once sang to her. She usually skips it, unless she's in the mood to cry, but today it doesn't bother her.

She's outside, she's free till she walks into the schoolyard, and she's happy for once. She turns her face up towards the sky and beams. Today, for whatever reason, feels like a good day.

She sits through school and class, tapping her pencil distractedly against the side of her desk. She's restless, anxious, in a way she can't describe. Deep in her gut, she knows something is happening, she just doesn't know what. When school finally lets out, she decides not to mingle with friends in the courtyard and instead hurries home.

When she arrives, she sees a black van parked hastily on the curb and all the excitement dissipates into pure fear. Yanking her earbuds out, she races inside, crying,

"Ma! Ma!"

"Kerrianne." Her mother is in the kitchen, calm but tense. "Go upstairs. Pack your things."

"But-" She keeps opening and closing her mouth but no sound is coming out. "What?"

"We're leaving." Her mother says flatly. "Go. One bag. Small. Pack your things, Kerrianne. Now. Go!" She jumps at the order and scrambles upstairs. She shoves her favorite jeans and sweatshirt into a bag, trying to find her warm socks and her favorite earrings. She whirls around the room, gathering everything stopping to catch her breath, looking around the room in panic.

What's she forgetting? She grabs her stuffed unicorn she's had for as long as she could remember, her iPod, her brush, all those things. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she looks around once more. On her way out, she snatches the photo of her and her father.

"Ma, what is going on?" She demands, as she's pulled into the van. Her mother, carrying several of her own bags, simply gives commands in a low voice to a dark haired man, who nods and starts driving. "Ma, where are we going?"

"Your father is in Ireland." Her mother admits and for a minute, the stress lifts off her face to show Kerrianne happiness. "We're going to see your father."

* * *

 _Fiona meaning 'fair, white'_

Her father had a cruel sense of humor, that damn man. He demanded that his only daughter be named Fiona, after his mother. The fact that his mother was a short, quiet, white woman and his daughter was a tall, vocal child with the dark skin of her mother was lost on him. He gave his daughter a name that she would have no use of.

Fiona. She became accustomed to the way that on the first day of school, during roll call, when Fiona was called out, every teacher would glance towards the pale-skinned Irish girls and she would have to raise her hand and claim the ill-fitting name.

It followed her up through the years, her strange name. Sometimes, ignorant people would laugh and ask her her real name, something that sounded more African. They'd ask if she'd taken the name Fiona to make things easier on everyone then asked why she picked it. It made her want to rip her hair out and scream.

Because if she was going to pick a name, Fiona would've been nowhere near the top of her list. It would've been so far down it would've been impossible to pick. Fiona, the damn name, the one that didn't suit her at all.

Fiona, meaning fair and white. They had done a class project once, where they had looked at the meanings of their names. She had stared down at hers in a mixture of exasperation and amusement, finally understanding why she hated the name so, why it fit like a too-small jumper. It wasn't her at all.

For Fiona, she is not fair. She is not some delicate princess, waiting for a white knight to rescue her from her tower. She doesn't need a man to slay her dragons. She is a wild warrior woman of old, gnashing teeth and pure strength.

She carries a gun like it's a pack of gum, palming it in her hands and leveling it at a man's head with hardly a blink of her eyes. She knows how to shake her hips, seduce a man, and leave him gasping for air as she saunters off. She's not fair, she's as dangerous as they come and anyone stupid enough to not believe it will understand afterwards.

She is not white. She's proud of her dusky skin and her curly hair, even if it's untamable on it's best day. She looks just like her mother and even though the woman is dead and buried, when Fiona sees her face staring back at her in the mirror, she has some comfort in knowing that a piece of her mother lives on in her.

Fiona, the girl with the wrong name, who wears her strength and fearlessness like a cloak, wishes her father could see her now.

* * *

 _Chibs not wanting his daughter to leave Ireland_

Is he a bad father? That's the question he mulls over as he sips on the same Irish brew he use to as a young lad. He's been by no means perfect. Hell, if he was, his daughter wouldn't have a 'step-father' that raised her.

But his girl, she knows how much he loves her. How hard he fought for her. How there were things he couldn't control and they were ripped from his arms, not willingly. He didn't want to leave them. It wasn't his choice.

But now, he has everything he's ever wanted. Fiona and Kerrianne, in his grasp, safe from Jimmy, ready to get on the next flight out and flee Ireland and the Real IRA and violence. They could come home to Charming.

He'd need a bigger house. One with big windows, so Fiona could get all the sunlight California has to offer, away from dreary Ireland. Kerrianne would have a whole wing of the house and anything she wanted. He would shift heaven and earth to get her what she wanted.

But even as he lets himself sink into the daydream, he cuts himself off. It is not possible, he knows that. It will never happen. Fiona and Kerrianne, they can't go and he can't stay. They remain anchored where their hearts are.

Sure, he could ask Clay for a transfer. He's almost sure that it would be granted. Though SAMCRO wouldn't like it, they'd respect his need to stay in Northern Ireland and be the one to put SAMBEL back on track. But it's club over family and he knows his duty.

And then there's Kerrianne. She is wildly beautiful, even he can't deny that. He can still see a little bit of that cautious child she once was, so hesitant and mild, loving all forms of music, content to listen for hours. He can see in her eyes a fraction of the love and admiration she once stared at her father with. His daughter, his heart.

Her home is here, in Ireland, much like his once was, those years ago. She's a child of Ireland, grew up in its hills and valleys, loving the mournful song and bloody history as much as he did. He knows what it's like to be ripped away from home, to have no say in the choice. He knows that pain, when all you want to do is run to safety and familiarity and you can't.

He won't place that burden on her. He won't have her hate him for stealing her away from the only home she has ever known. It might kill him, but he has to leave his girls here, where they belong. Fiona is a fierce enough warrior that Kerrianne will be safe with her.

Maybe that makes him a bad father. But he has dreamt of this since the day Jimmy took them and left marks on his face as proof. He has been thinking about this since then, going one way, then the other. Keep them. Leave them. Keep them. Leave them. And he knows, deep down in his soul, that he must be the brave one, the strong one, and tear himself away from them. Because he is her father and that means protecting her no matter the cost.

 **AN:** Ok so I lied, I do like season 3, mainly because I love Ireland and Chibs and his girls and the whole works. Tell me what you love please?


	36. Season 3- Firinne

Episode 10: Firinne

 _Cherry's history with bad men ("I need a new life.")_

You know, in the grand scheme of things, she supposes she can trace it all back to when she was in fifth grade. She'd had a crush on Johnny D, the meanest boy in school. He'd push girls off the playground and laugh. All the girls hated him, but not Cherry. She'd walked up to him, pushed him, and smirked. He'd been her first kiss.

Middle school had brought with it a slew of boys vying for her attention. It never mattered though. No matter what, no matter who it was, Cherry never wanted the boys who left chocolate in her locker or walked her to the bus.

No, she wanted the boys that stood on the corner, smoking and jeering at them. The ones that skipped morning classes to hide under the crumbling bleachers to drink beer. It didn't take long for Cherry to join them.

She never stayed with one for very long. That was their nature. They'd fall in love, be happy, fight, blow up, break up, and date friends in a desperate attempt to make the other jealous and twist the knife a little further.

That continued through high school, with it's blurry nights spent in a drunken and high state, never quite sure of who she was hooking up with and where her affections were. It didn't really matter anyways. Everything was temporary, the buzz, the sex, the bruises, the drugs. They didn't last.

Then came her mother's boyfriend, the one who leered down at her with yellowing teeth and he treated her just like her boyfriends did and she hated every second of it. The second she had a chance to escape, she did. At the end of high school, when she was 18 and a real adult, she followed where the general crowd went- to ragged, run down trailers on the edge of town. There was the rat infested one with Tommy, the one that constantly smelled like garlic with Pete, the one with no air-conditioning with Josh, they all blur together in her mind.

The last one had been with Casey. It had been slightly less miserable than the others. She was cooking the kitchen, trying to figure out how to make a meal with baked beans, bacon, and salt when she looked up. Casey, bare-assed in the front yard, was having sex with some thin girl while his friends stood around, cheering. She dropped the beans, packed her things, and left without a backwards glance.

It had been more of the same, all the way to Las Vegas. Hitchhiking, men in bars that got her drunk but had a warm bed. She knew how to make things work. She knew how to toss back a shot and smile. And that's how she met him.

The asshole. She hadn't been prepared for his blinding smile, his quick tongue, the smooth talking. How easily she finds herself attached to him. Soon, they're living together. Not in a trailer park, but a small little house that they can grow in. She finds herself with a little ring on her finger and she's happy and settled for the first time in what feels like forever.

Then came the bruises. Grips too tight on the way out of the bar. Upper arms, always covered with sleeves. Slaps, rants, punches, bitter rage. So she'd done the only logical thing she could think of at that point- burn the whole damn house down and hope he went with it. Then she ran.

Indian Hills had always been home, but that didn't mean it was the same place she'd left. Tommy had OD'd, Pete was in jail for armed robbery, and all her girlfriends were either knocked up or carting their brood of kids off to court. It was pure luck that first night at the bar she'd met Jury, who'd asked her to get him a beer and come back to the bar.

She took to the sweet butt life naturally. No steady boyfriend but plenty of attention from everyone, that appealed to her. Plus, they protected her from her past and there was always plenty of alcohol. Kip was a bright light in an otherwise fairly bleak life, and it was over too soon, for she got shipped off to Ireland.

And when everything goes to hell again and everyone around her is drunk and bitter, she thinks to herself what life could've been if she had actually made it to Vegas. She rubs her temples and tries not to just lay down and cry.

Yeah, she needs a new life.

* * *

 _Clay killing Keith_

At least 100 memories are racing through Clay's head.

Keith, grinning at him from across the bar, the sense of belonging washing through him.

Keith, helping him pack for Vietnam, not trying to cheer him up or encourage him, but rather silent support.

His return from Vietnam, Keith practically pouring alcohol down his throat, pushing women into him, laughing.

Keith, passing him on his bike, laughing.

Keith, sitting at the table, hands folded in ponderous thought.

Keith, him, and the seven others, just trying to start something, unaware where it would lead them.

Keith, betraying the club.

That's the only memory that matters right now and that's the one that Clay chooses to focus on as Keith steps up to the ledge. He has to put away all his personal feelings. This is the nature of the club. Betrayal will not be tolerated.

That doesn't mean he can forget the memories.

Keith and his purposeful loud voice on Sunday mornings when he was hungover.

Keith's undying habit of adding bacon bits to everything.

Keith's passionate love of old black and white gangsta films.

Keith making the world's best meatloaf.

The first nine, a dying breed. Slowly, but surely, Clay is losing his brothers. And though he knows he shouldn't see Keith as a brother anymore, as he steps to the ledge and he's without his kutte for the first time in however many years Clay's known him, he feels the same pain he felt when he lost all his other brothers.

Keith falls and disappears and a piece of Clay's soul goes with him.

* * *

 _"You watch him!" "Yes ma'am."_

"Jax!" Gemma yells and from the large trees in the backyard drop two boys, kicking up dust with they land hard, laughing.

"Coming mom!" Jax calls back, glancing back to see if Opie is with him. They try to brush their clothes clean, then run inside.

"What were you doing?" Gemma asks, clipping on her bracelets and leveling them with her best mom glare.

"Nothing." Jax says instantly and Gemma turns to Opie, who keeps his mouth shut tightly.

"Alright, don't tell me." She says dismissively. "But I'm going to the club."

"We're gonna go to the skate park." Jax informs her, opening the fridge and grabbing the three kinds of meat and two cheeses out, snatching the bread and taking four slices out. Gemma watches in amazement as he begins stacking a sandwich together.

"Watch him." She orders Opie, once she's able to tear her eyes away from Jax and his creation.

"Yes ma'am." Opie says in amusement, watching as Jax now contemplates how he's going to fit the sandwich into his mouth. Shaking her head, Gemma departs. "Try smashing it down." Opie suggests thoughtfully.

"No, I don't want to rip the bread."

Once Jax has finally managed to eat the sandwich, as well as half a bag of chips and three cookies, they grab their bikes and pedal to the skate park. They pause, looking through the chainlink fence in silence. A group of boys on skateboards are yelling and laughing.

"Well shit." Opie says flatly and Jax makes a face. "You still wanna go in?"

"Yeah." Jax's chin juts up in defiance. "I'm not scared of them."

"Ok then." Opie follows Jax into the park. For awhile, they stay away from the group of other boys, but that doesn't last forever and quickly, they're forced to make their way to that ramp.

"Hey, bike trash, get off our ramp." One particularly burly kid says hotly.

"It's not your ramp." Jax says heatedly. "It's at a public park dipshit."

"Yeah and white trash ain't allowed on it." He sneers and Jax rams his bike forward, hitting the kid's skateboard.

"Don't call me white trash." He warns.

"Why, it's what you are. White trash, biker trash, all around trash. Trash, trash, trash," He chants and Opie catches Jax's fist before it swings.

"Just go." He says lowly and Jax, blue eye flashing, grits his teeth and just drops in from the ramp.

"Don't think that we won't punch your face in too." The burly kid threatens and Opie just blinks balefully then drops in behind Jax.

(-)

Gemma walks into her kitchen, feeling like the weight of the world is pressing onto her shoulders. Someone, deep inside her brain, she knows things are going to get much worse, but right now, she just wants sleep. She drops her purse on the counter before realizing that someone else is in the house.

"Hi Gem." Opie is standing at the stove, stirring a pot slowly. She blinks a couple times, bewildered, mostly because Opie Winston is standing in her kitchen, cooking, and strangest of all, with a shaved head.

"Op." She says, startled. Then she walks over to embrace him tightly. "Oh, thank god you're here. How'd you ever get Mary to let you go?" She holds him out from her, inspecting him. It's not just the hair that's changed- he's skinnier, calmer, and quieter. She silently is thankful for that- she's sure Jax will need his best friend in the upcoming weeks.

"Not willingly." He tries to joke, but it's subdued.

"Well, I don't know how she ever would've kept you away. How's he doing?" Gemma questions and Opie dumps mac and cheese into one bowl, grabbing a spoon.

"Well, he yelled a lot. Then he cried a lot. I think we've found a balance now." He says quietly and the pair of them walk to Jax's room. For a second, Gemma isn't sure he's the room, but then she realizes the mess of blankets, clothes, and pillows conceal him.

"Jax…" She says quietly and the lump doesn't move.

"Food." Opie shoves the bowl into the depths.

"Not hungry." Jax says monotonously.

"Didn't ask. Eat it." Opie orders, sitting down and picking up the remote. Gemma watches from the doorway, unsure what she should do. After a couple long moments, Jax picks up the spoon and slowly lifts it to his mouth.

"You watch him." Gemma mummers to Opie.

"Yes ma'am." He inclines and she goes to fall onto her bed and curl into a ball.

Darkness falls and Jax doesn't speak. Opie sits beside him steadily, keeping the TV on. There isn't anything that passes between the two of them but silence. Opie just waits, anticipating Jax's next move. So when he suddenly stands, throwing the blankets aside, Opie is ready.

"I gotta go." Jax says abruptly and Opie just follows him outside. Jax grabs a bike, casually thrown aside and races down the driveway. Opie, thankful that he had the foresight to bring his as well, keeps up with him.

Jax races through Charming and it's not hard to tell where he's headed. Opie, his stomach sinking, just tries to keep up peddling but Jax is in better shape. When he finally skids to a stop, Jax is on a bike trail overlooking the highway.

"Jax." Opie calls and it's not an attempt to draw him back but more of a reminder that he's there, that he's not alone.

"He's gone." Jax says and Opie just waits for his best friend. "He's just gone, it's so easy to leave, we could just…" Jax takes a step forward and Opie lunges forward, grabbing Jax's arm before he can get closer to the lip of the cliff.

"Don't." He says flatly and Jax looks up at him, pain clouding his eyes.

"Op, I don't know how to do this." He whispers and Opie keeps a firm grip on his upper arm.

"You'll figure it out. We'll figure it out, together." He promises. "Now I swear, get on your bike. We're going home."

(-)

"I just… I'm speechless." Donna says, pacing back and forth in front of his couch. Opie watches her quietly, his head in his hands. "Can you believe this?"

"No." He says tonelessly, the only word he's said for the last half hour, if not more.

"I'm just… Sheer disbelief! I thought I knew her better. I thought we were closer than that." Donna fumes.

"She didn't even tell Jax." Opie responds and from the cold glare Donna throws his way, surmises that's the wrong thing to say.

"That's different Op. Tara and I were friends. Best friends. You tell your best friend things you don't even tell your boyfriend." She stops pacing and pinches her nose.

"So you're telling me Tara knows things even I don't?" He prods and she collapses into a chair, refusing to be swayed by the change of topic.

"I just can't believe she's gone." She broods.

"We all can't." Opie agrees and Donna is quiet finally. After awhile she sighs and waves a hand.

"You should go be with Jax." She insists. "His girlfriend just left him. If I know him like I think I know him, he's about to hit a downward spiral and fast."

"No, that'll come in about two to three days. He's still in the denial phase." Opie says and Donna's brow creases.

"How do you know that?"

"I've watched him lose people before." He says heavily, getting up and kissing her head. "But I'll go check on him for you."

"Opie." Donna calls as he opens the door. He glances over his shoulder. She's leaning over the top of her chair, worriedly chewing her lip. "You'd tell me if you were leaving, right?"

"No." He says honestly and hurt begins to bloom in her eyes. "But I'm never leaving you." With a smile, he walks out. He rides to Jax's, not sure what to expect. If things go by Jax's standard timeline, there are still a couple days left of the denial, forcing everything to be normal, before he moves onto blind anger. He parks, noticing Gemma's car is gone and so is Clay's motorcycle. He lets himself in, listening for Jax.

"Op, I know it's you." His voice calls from his bedroom and Opie shuts the door loudly, walking towards it.

"Should I ask how?" He asks, walking into Jax's room, prepared for the worst. The room is an absolute mess, filled with empty bottles of alcohol, food wrappers, plates, and cigarette butts.

"Mom and Clay went to the club for some," He makes air quotes. "Important shit. And it's not like anyone else is coming." He glowers and lights another cigarette. "It's not like it was Tara."

"Ok." Opie says firmly, to hide his surprise that Jax is clearly already onto the anger phase. "Get up. Get dressed. We're going to the club."

"Why?" Jax spits.

"Because you can't be alone." Opie gives him a flat look. "And I can't take care of you alone. So we might as well take you there, where the crow eaters can make sure you don't burn the whole place down when you fall asleep with a cigarette in your mouth."

"I haven't done that yet." Jax mutters and Opie throws the least smelly pair of jeans that he can find at Jax.

"Let's go." He orders. Grumbling, Jax pulls them on and stumbles out to his bike. Opie lets him go first, following him closely to make sure he doesn't suddenly detour down an alley or back ground. When Jax finally parks in the club, Opie breathes a sigh of relief.

"Hey, what are you two doing here?" Clay asks, walking out of the shop and watching with a slight frown as Jax throws his helmet at the chainlink fence and staggers inside.

"Shit." Gemma says, coming up behind Clay, her hands on her hips. "I thought we had a couple more days before he got pissed."

"He surprised us by arriving there early." Opie declares dryly and Gemma pats Clay's shoulder than hurriedly follows Jax into the clubhouse. Opie follows after her. They walk in to find a stripper standing with a shot of tequila between her boobs, salt on her arm, and a lime in her mouth. Jax is getting ready to lick the salt.

"Jesus Christ." Gemma says tiredly. "You watch him." She turns and points to Opie.

"Yes ma'am." He says automatically then goes to the girl minding the bar. "You cut him off before he blacks out, you understand me?"

"How many is that?" She asks curiously.

"It'll be somewhere between strippers 3 and 4." He says and grabs a beer, leaving a confused girl in his wake. He sits down on the couch with his beer and watches as Jax spits the shot glass out and takes the lime. He sighs heavily as Jax then spits the lime and grabs the stripper's ass.

It's gonna be a long night.

* * *

 _Trinity's Teller-ness_

"Trinny!" Her mother's yelling makes the small, thin girl look up. She's got her feet dangling off the rickety fire escape, a thick book about love in her hands. She debates remaining in her hiding place, but decides that nothing could be worse than her mother's rage and a ladle so she squeezes back through the window.

"Aye ma?" She tries to sound casual, seating herself in the chair by the window. Her mother rounds the corner, looking flustered before stopping and frowning at her.

"Where were ya?" She demands and Trinity shrugs.

"Dunno what ya mean, been here da whole time." She says and her mother looks ready to argue the point before shutting her mouth and sighing.

"Yer teacher called." She reveals and Trinity's stomach clenches nervously.

"Ma, I can explain." She hastily tries to avert the problem.

"Explain what Trinity?" Her mother has her serious face on, the one that means Trinity can't cry or beg or promise her way out of this trouble. She hesitates, not sure which of her sins her mother knows about and what ones she shouldn't reveal.

"My behavior." She settles for a purposely vague term, since she knows the call will at least be related to that.

"Yer fightin' in da school yard!" Her mother bursts and Trinity leans back apprehensively. That behavior.

"Ma," She tries to get a word in otherwise, but her mother is having none of it.

"My daughter! Fightin'! Are ya mad? What the Mary's name is enough to get ya fightin'?"

"Da boys ma!" She rises up the her mother's anger with some of her own and she sees her look at her in surprise. "Bullies, da lot of them!" Angry tears prick her eyes as she recalls the rainy afternoon. "They took my books, threw them in da dirt. Pulled my hair." She pulls back the sleeves of her shirt so her mother can see the bruises on her arm.

"Trinny…" Her mother breathes, clearly stunned.

"And then they pushed Darcy into da fence." She says spitefully. "So I punched Jimmy and I don't regret it Ma, they're so mean ta us!" She can't hold her furious tears in anymore.

"Ya didn't fight them till they hurt ya friend?" Her mother asks quietly and Trinity doesn't know what answer is correct, so she defaults to the truth.

"Aye." She says slowly, swiping at her eyes.

"Ah, my Trinny-girl." With a rueful smile, her mother takes her into her arms and nervously, Trinity accepts the embrace. "Yer so much like ya da sometimes. Fightin' for da weak." Trinity doesn't ask any questions about her dead soldier father.

"Am I in trouble?" She asks carefully and with a small laugh, her mother shakes her head.

"Nah Trinny, but ya can't be fightin' anyone who does ya wrong."

"Why not?" Trinity demands and for a second, her mother looks nothing but proud. Then she resumes her stern mask.

"Cause yer a smart girl. Yer teacher said ya got the highest score of ya whole class in readin'." She says and Trinity grins, glancing down at her book. "Yer smart Trinny, don't let stupid boys ruin it for ya."

"But ma." She protests as her mother rises to head back into her bedroom. She turns and raises an eyebrow. "No one else will fight um." She reveals, watching her mother warily. "If I don't, no one will."

"Then be smart about how ya fight them." Her mother winks and Trinity frowns, trying to figure out what she means. "Like having backup." She walks into her bedroom and starts the door. Pondering what backup she could have, because Darcy is useless, she climbs back out onto the fire escape, reading her book.

She's hardly made it through a chapter before inspiration strikes. She snaps the book shut and excitedly climbs back inside. She has an uncle to call.

That next morning, all the kids in the schoolyard stop at the sound of a loud roar. They clamber to the fence, watching as a Harley motorcycle pulls up to the drop off area. A tiny girl, whip thin, with hair so blonde it almost seems white, hops off the back and hands the helmet back to the broad shouldered man.

"Thanks Uncle Keith!" Trinity says loudly, waving and skipping toward the courtyard. With a laugh, the man on the bike drives away, revving the engine extra loud when he passes the courtyard.

"Who's that?" One boy with bad teeth asks, watching the disappear bike with wide eyes.

"That's my uncle Keith." Trinity says, so all the boys can hear her.

"Did he have a skeleton on his back?" Another boy asks worriedly.

"Of, yeah." Trinity says, supremely unconcerned. "Dat's da Reaper."

"What's a Reaper?" Darcy asks timidly and Trinity glances over her shoulder at the boys that are watching her with a new sense of apprehension.

"It's da thing dat hurts da bad people dat hurt me." With that she squares her shoulder and marches through the clump of boys. They melt away in front of her, awed and cowed. She turns and gives a triumphant smile at the fact that today, no one is going to be punched or shoved. Then she skips into the library. She needs a new book.

* * *

 _"Is that the life you want for your child?" Abel being Jax's son_

He checks the clock. 4:39. He's got an hour and roughly 11 minutes before his big moment. Plenty of time. He stretches and sets down the wrench, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Heading out?" Ken asks, appearing over the top of a bike he's been tinkering with.

"Yeah." He throws his dirty, oily rag into a bucket.

"No you're not." Quinn says, striding into the shop, his face furious.

"Shit, what now?" Abel asks, slouching.

"We've got something to handle." Quinn announces and Abel stares at him in disbelief.

"Today man, of all days?" He points out and Quinn gives him a stern look.

"Ok, ok." He grumbles, putting his hands up. "I get it. What happened?"

7 minutes later, they're riding their bikes out of the yard and Abel has half his focus on the road ahead and the other half on the time on his phone, it slowly ticking closer to 6 and his doom. He appreciates the Quinn is speeding them towards the warehouse but he'd rather be home, showering and getting ready.

But this is not an option because there are men to chase and threaten and Piper nearly dies with laughter when he sees how annoyed Abel is, standing with his gun aimed at an unconscious man, demanding if he can go now.

"Go then, we can handle this." Ken says, hauling one man to the center of the room. Quinn watches with folded arms.

"No, I'll stay." Abel mutters, glancing at the clock. 5:34. 26 minutes to get home, shower, and change. It'll be cutting it close.

"No, go, we can handle it from here." Quinn instructs.

"Are you sure?" Abel checks and Quinn glances at him, waving a hand.

"Go. Do this. Lord knows she needs it." With a grin, Abel tucks his gun back into the band of his jeans and puts his grandfathers knife where in belongs on his belt.

"Don't fuck things up with my sister!" Piper bellows as he runs out of the warehouse. He hops on the bike and rides as fast as he can home, making it in second time. 5: 47. 13 minutes. He can do it. He strips out of his clothes, noticing in annoyance that he's got blood on his jeans, but there's no time to soak them.

The shower is more of a quick rinse, getting the blood, dirt, and grime off him. His hands pass over the tattoos on his forearms and back of his hands then he quickly gets out, drying off. 5:51. 9 minutes. He's never been more thankful for picking his outfit out the night before. He pulls it on, tossing the knife and gun into the middle of the bed, knocking his other gun off the nightstand as he grabs the gift sitting there and dashes out the door.

5:53. 7 minutes. It's a 15 minute drive to the restaurant and he knows this, but the love of his life is punctual and not happy when he's late so he crosses his fingers that no cops or sheriffs will pull him over on his crusade through town. Maybe it's his father smiling down, but the drive is seamless, void of cars, cops, or red lights.

He pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine on his bike, checking the time. 6:01. He looks up in time to see the silver hybrid car's driver door open. As it always does, his heart skips a beat at the sight of her.

The long legs, the short dress, the long, blonde hair, the big green eyes, and her wide smile, ruby red lips. Willow, in all her glory. He gets off the bike and opens his arms, eager to have her in them once again.

"You're late." She declares, kissing his cheek and squeezing him tightly.

"It could've been worse." He tells her and she frowns just slightly. "You might have to get blood out of my pants later."

"Well are they soaking?" She asks him quietly, wrapping her arm around his waist as they walk into the restaurant.

"No." He admits and she sighs heavily. "That's why I'm on time!"

"Oh Abel Teller I have missed you." She says, chuckling in amusement.

"I missed you more, Willow Winston." He kisses her head then smiles at the man. "Reservations under Teller."

"Right this way." He leads them to a back table, far away from the classy people in their suits and jewels. Abel doesn't bother getting mad about it- he's learned long ago that if he keeps his kutte on while visiting these places, he will always be looked down at. It does irk him that stunning Willow is regulated to the corners, but he knows she's as unbothered by it as him.

"I've heard the fish here is great." She's muttering and he just watches her for a long moment, the way she flips her hair over her shoulder, the slight purse in her lips as she examines the menu.

"Then get the fish." He suggests, glancing at the menu before inspecting the drink menu carefully.

"What if I don't like it though?" She muses. "We don't go to fancy places often, I'm going to make it count."

"I'm sorry." He says guiltily. "I should take you out more, I just—"

"Abel." She cuts him off, resting her hand over his. "I don't care. This is just as good as grilling with you at the club." Her eyes crinkle into a smile. "Except at the club I actually know what half the stuff on the menu is."

"As long as I get some good whiskey, I'm fine with it." He declares and she makes a face at him. They order and eat, laughing and trading bites and stories. Willow's been busy with her new job, debating if she should move in with Jordan or stay with her mother.

"And I love her, I do, but she just drives me crazy." She complains, head in her hands and Abel watches in amusement. "Like, there can never be two minutes of peace and quiet, we are always on the next crisis."

"You look like you need some peace and quiet." Abel comments and she gaps at him, throwing her napkin at his face.

"Are you saying I look tired?" She questions and he waves his hands.

"No, never, you look stunning." He assures her and she rolls her eyes, smiling. "I just mean, I can tell you want a little space of your own."

"I do." She sighs, sipping on her wine. "But short of getting my own apartment, which I cannot afford, I'm just stuck between a rock and a hard place."

"Then why don't you try my place?" He suggests, nonchalantly setting the small gift box on the table in front of her. Astonished, she picks it up and opens it with shaking hands. A small key sits in the center.

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" She says lowly, looking at him in astonishment.

"I am." He says confidently. "That means waking up with you, showering with you, cooking with you, doing laundry with you,"

"There it is." Willow says dryly, picking up the key and checking it.

"Willow Jocelyn Winston, I love you, I want to live with you, please say yes because I've already cleared closet space for you." He reaches across the table and takes her hands. "Live with me."

"Well," She takes her hand away and carefully puts the key in her purse. "Let's go home then Abel Teller." With a wicked glint, she sashays out the door. He watches her hips go, feeling just slightly weak in the knees.

They stumble through the house, discarding clothing as they go, trying to squeeze in as many kisses as they can before the bedroom. Willow is telling him, between kisses, that the couch will need to go and the countertops are getting redone and he will take that stripper calendar off the fridge and he's nodding and laughing, uncaring because now his house is her house. He throws her onto the bed, going to kiss his stomach before she makes a noise of pain.

"What?" He asks, instantly on high alert. Flinching, she reaches under her head and holds up his gun. "Oh, sorry. I was in a rush!" He protests at her incredulous look.

"There are going to be rules about where we put guns in my house." She tells him firmly and he just nods before leaning down to kiss her once more.

 **AN:** So this chapter totally ran away from me because we have Cherry and Clay and baby Jax and Opie and Trinity and Willow and wow long. Want to comment on my ramblings? Please do! Thanks for reading!


	37. Season 3- Bainne

Episode 11: Bainne

 _Teller siblings AU_

"Jackson." His father calls up the stairs and Jax, carefully shaving his face, sets down the razor before calling back,

"What?"

"Wake up your sister." John orders. "Or you'll both be late."

"Ok." He finishes shaving, splashing water on his face until it's clean of shaving cream. He towels it dry and then walks down the hall to the white door with black flowers painted on it. "Trinny." He says loudly, knocking a couple times before pushing the door open.

"Fuck off." Trinity is buried under a mess of blankets and pillows, the only evidence that she's in the bed the blonde hair that sticks out in tufts from one corner. Jax grins and leans against the doorway.

"If you don't get up, we're going to be late." He tells her and she raises her head enough to glare at him. "Besides, you shouldn't be using that kind of language, you're just a baby."

"I'm not a baby." She grumbles, rolling out of bed. Despite her protests, her scrawny limbs and baby face betray her young age of 9.

"But you're still my younger sister so let's go." He claps his hands loudly a couple times. "Move, move, move."

"Are we at least gonna pick Tara up?" She grumbles, walking past him towards the bathroom.

"If I tell you yes, will you move faster?" Jax asks and she sticks her tongue out at him, then slams the door. Grinning, he walks downstairs.

"I thought we still have a couple more years before she became a teenager and started all the door slamming." Maureen observes, her eyes looking upwards as she pours coffee for Jax.

"She's an old soul." John says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, sipping his own cup.

"Thank Mo." Jax accepts the coffee gratefully, sitting down at the table and picking up the newspaper to flip through. "Are they really building that new factory downtown?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it." John mutters, engrossing in a spreadsheet. Jax reads and drinks coffee, listening to the noises upstairs of Trinity getting ready. Finally she troops downstairs, a scowl on her face.

"Ready." She grumbles and he grins at her brightly then swings his kutte on. "Bye ma." She kisses her mother's cheek before leaning over the table and kissing her father's. "Bye da."

"Have a good day at camp darling." He calls. "And I'll see you at work." He says to Jax, who raises his hand and walks out, passing the small memorial on the table in the entry. Tommy, his little brother with the heart too big for this world and his mother, who's heart didn't know how to beat without her baby. They'd both been gone nearly 7 years, meaning Mo and Trinity had been a part of his life for nearly 5.

"Ready for camp?" He asks Trinity and she glares at him, grabbing her helmet off his bike.

"I don't get a choice, do I?" She points out sassily and he laughs, clinching her chin strap.

"Smart girl." He says approvingly. She makes a face at him then hops onto the back and tightens her arms around his waist.

"How many times do I have to tell you, that cannot be safe?" Tara complains, as Jax pulls up to the colorful building. She's leaning against her dark car, looking at them, exasperated.

"Ma says it is." Trinity says calmly, hopping off the bike and then hugging Tara. Tara, still looking like she wants to argue the point further, softens and hugs Trinity.

"Alright, let's go, you have friendship bracelets to make and I have babies to cuddle." She orders and Trinity dashes inside but not before a quick hug with Jax.

"Have a good day at work with all your babies." Jax says, kissing Tara's cheek.

"Ah, thank you. I'll give her a ride home when we're done?" She offers.

"This is why I love you." He says fondly, giving her an extra deep kiss for good measure.

"Quit or we'll have a baby of our own to watch over." She teases and he just raises a wicked eyebrow then heads for a day of work at the shop.

"Hey we doing anything tonight?" Opie asks, leaning against the wall next to Jax as they take a smoke break.

"Can't." Jax reveals, taking a long drag. "Tara and I are gonna watch Trinny tonight."

"She's 9, you really think she still needs a babysitter?" Opie points out in amusement.

"It's mostly to make sure she doesn't burn down the house." Jax admits with a grin.

"Shit, I didn't think they'd trust you with that." Opie says, feigning shock. Jax makes a face at him, putting out his cigarette.

"You and Donna could come over though. If she's had a big day at camp, she usually falls asleep pretty early." He tells him.

"Big brother Jax, throwing parties while baby sister is fast asleep." Opie jokes and Jax rolls his eyes.

"Don't call Trinny a baby to her face though, she nearly bit my head off this morning." He informs him and Opie frowns.

"I thought we had a couple years before she got into all that teenage shit."

"She's an old soul." Jax repeats his father and then, grinning, ducks back into the shop.

When they're finally done with work, Jax wipes the grease from his forehead, walking into the clubhouse. His father and stepmother are carefully sorting through their bags while the other brothers mill about, getting ready for the run.

"Sorry you're not coming." John says quietly to Jax and Opie. Both boys just wave their hands.

"Just a charity run. Go, have a little vacation. Please don't give me another sibling." Jax says, half joking, half serious and Mo shoos him away, laughing.

"I'll asks Donna if she wants to come over tonight." Opie says as they get onto their bikes.

"Do you really think her and Tara don't already have everything planned?" Jax scoffs and Opie chuckles.

"Good point. See you tonight then probably."

Jax pulls up to the house right before Tara and Trinity do. Smiling at the timing, he takes his helmet off and watches as they park. Deep in conversation, they get out and walk towards him.

"Keeping secrets?" He teases them.

"Yeah, about girl stuff." Tara says and he makes a face.

"Say no more, I will mind my own business." He says, putting his hands up. With a smirk at Tara, Trinity runs inside. "Everything ok?" He asks Tara lowly when she's close enough.

"Ah, just stupid kids at camp." She says, shrugging and wrapping her arms around his waist. "The same kind of kids that were mean to me when I was young."

"What do you mean?" Forehead furrowed, Jax looks at her in concern. "Trinity is getting bullied?"

"Not bullied." Tara glances at the window, watching at the young girl stretches up on a stool to reach into a cookie jar.

"Then what?" Jax jostles Tara gently to get her attention.

"Kids, when they know that you don't have the perfect, normal family, they can be brutal if they want. And Trinny, she's an easy target. She's small, she's pretty quiet, she's content to sit by herself and read or paint. It's not bad Jax or her teachers would have to call home."

"What do they say?" Jax asks flatly and Tara sighs.

"I don't know, the typical things boys say. They tease her. But," She cuts off Jax's indignant rant before it can start. "But she holds her own. I asked her about it Jax and she said it's fine. It's fine." She pats his chest reassuringly.

"She better hold her own." Jax mutters. "All those Saturday morning wrestling matches better not fail her now."

"I'm sure she'll thank you for them one day." Tara says dryly and they walk inside.

"Only one cookie!" Jax yells at her and Trinity, one eyebrow arched in defiance, takes three. "Ok two, and I'll order pizza for supper." He bargains and she mulls it over then flips the cookie to him and darts off. He takes a bite before Tara smacks him. "Ow! What?"

"How about veggies for supper?" She suggests and Jax pretends to be deep in thought.

"Trinny, want vegetable pizza?" He asks loudly and she looks over the top of the couch in disgust.

"Ew, no."

"The kid has spoken." Jax says sagely and Tara rolls her eyes. "Meat lovers it is!" He flops down on the couch next to Trinity, taking the remote from her and bickering easily. Smiling, Tara slumps into an armchair and pulls out a medical textbook, thumbing through it thoughtfully.

When Donna and Opie arrive, there's an empty pizza box and an empty ice cream container, Jax and Tara curled up on the couch, watching a movie, Trinity fast asleep beside them.

"Oh, this is surprisingly adorable." Donna says in hushed tones.

"Wanna start the fire outside?" Jax asks lowly and Opie nods, slipping outside. "C'mon, help me carry her to bed." He mummers to Tara.

"She should wake up and brush her teeth." Tara replies, picking up their ice cream bowls.

"Let her have some fun mom." Jax teases, easing his arms under Trinity's head and knees. He slowly lifts her up, watching her face intently to see if she's waking up in any way. When she doesn't, he creeps upstairs. Tara follows, passing him in the hallway so she can adjust Trinity's covers.

"Socks." Tara whispers and Jax pauses above Trinity's bed so Tara can tug the socks off. "Ok, she can change if she wakes up." She takes a step back and Jax lowers his sister to the bed, pushing her hair back off her face and kissing her head.

"Sweet dreams brat." He mutters and tugs the covers over her shoulders, shutting the lights off on his way out.

"You'll make such a good daddy one day." Tara teases him quietly as he slowly shuts the door.

"One day." He says warningly and she holds his hand all the way out to the fire.

"Trinny asleep?" Donna pipes up, curling up on Opie's lap.

"Yeah, camp wears her out, thank god. She's a spitfire otherwise." Jax rubs his face with his hands.

"Huh, I wonder where she gets that from." Tara mocks and Jax hushes her by kissing her.

"You Teller's, you're handfuls." Opie observes.

* * *

 _Abel adopted AU_

"Matthew! Breakfast!" His mother's voice drifts upstairs along with the scent of bacon and it's the food that gets him up and out of bed, stumbling downstairs, rubbing his face tiredly.

"Thanks ma." He mutters, blindly shoveling eggs into his mouth.

"Easy, don't choke." His dad remarks, watching with a small smile.

"Sorry." With a gulp, he finishes off the eggs and moves onto the bacon. His mother smiles and slides most of the bacon onto his plate before sliding the remaining few pieces to his father.

"Thanks dear." With a kiss to his cheek, Mark picks up the newspaper and disappears behind it. Katey hums as she cleans up the kitchen.

"You're going to be late for school." She warns her son, who grins and waves a hand, more awake now.

"I just have science first hour, I can miss that." He jokes.

"Shower up and get dressed." His father orders and he does as told, brushing his teeth and thinking about his plan for the day. He wants to talk to Chrissy, but Bella had warned him that Chrissy might still like Caleb, which in his opinion is a mistake because Caleb is a jerk.

He stands in front of the slightly foggy mirror, rubbing gel together so his short blonde hair will stand straight up in a spiky fashion that's all the rage with him and his friends. A glop escapes his palms and falls onto his chest. He grabs a towel to wipe it off, grazing the scar on his stomach.

His parents have never told him much about the scar, just that there was a complication with his birth but he's healthy now. It doesn't bother him much, except late at night when he runs his fingers over it and wonders why they won't ever talk about it.

"Matthew! You're going to be late." His mother warns and he's drawn out of his thoughts.

"Coming." He yells back, putting his gel away and glancing at his hair once more. He pulls on the somewhat itchy school uniform, shining his shoes and adjusting his tie.

"Have a good day. I love you." His mother says, kissing his cheek as she hands him his lunch.

"I love you too." He says, dashing to the car before his father can honk.

"So what's her name?" Mark asks nonchalantly, fixing the review mirror as he backs out of the garage and turning on the route towards school.

"Who's?" Matthew asks in confusion.

"The girl that keeps you in the bathroom an extra twenty minutes every day." He teases, grinning at him.

"No girl." He says quickly. "My hair is just… Unruly."

"Good word." His dad says approvingly. "But in case my opinion matters, I think you and Chrissy would be cute together." Bright red, Matthew turns the dial on the radio up while his father laughs.

"Bye, love you." He says hastily, grabbing his backpack out of the backseat and darting out the door.

"Have a good day!" His father calls and Matthew waves, running into St. Edward's Catholic School. He slides into his seat next to his best friend Patrick, grinning before his teacher walks in, hushing them all.

"Ok class, settle down." She orders and the giggles and hushed whispering quiets quickly. "As a continuation of us studying genes, I think today would be a fun time to start these little things called Punnett squares." She holds up worksheets and everyone groans. "No, this is going to be fun." She insists.

"Is homework ever fun?" Caleb calls from the back of the room and Matthew notices in annoyance that Chrissy giggles.

"This kind of homework will tell you why you look the way you do." Their teacher reveals mysteriously and that pips their attention. "Why your eye color is blue or brown, why Abby has dimples, why you have your father's nose or your mom's ears." She wanders down their rows, handing them the papers. "So we talked about dominant and recessive genes, called here a big B and little b…"

Matthew is frowning at his Punnett square, scratching the back of his head. He sneaks a glance at Patrick, who's thoughtfully trying to figure things out. He looks back at his paper, biting his lip, and as if she can sense his confusion, his teacher wanders over and kneels next to him.

"I don't think I did this right." He admits and she smiles encouragingly at him.

"Well now let's check. Both your parents have brown eyes, correct?" She asks and he nods. "And you have blue eyes, right? So they must both be Bb and you inherited two little b's!"

"That's the thing though." He hesitates, chewing nervously on the end of his pencil. "My grandparents have brown eyes too." A slight crease appears between his teacher's eyebrows.

"No, someone must have recessive." She says quietly.

"Can I show you a picture on my phone?" He asks and she nods slowly, frowning at the worksheet. He pulls his slim, silver phone from his backpack, opening a picture of him and his grandparents at a recent family picnic. Their arms are slung around him and everyone is grinning. He zooms on their faces, clearly showcasing brown eyes.

"There's got to be a recessive gene in there somewhere…" She mummers, paying less attention to him and more to the photo, squinting and inspecting the photo. He waits quietly but for a long time she says nothing, just staring in bewilderment at it.

"Did I do it wrong?" He asks worriedly.

"From what I see Matthew, no, no you did it exactly right and that's why I don't understand." She says lowly. "Work on the next assignment, I'll look this over."

When the bell rings for the end of class and they gather their stuff up, he stops by his teacher's desk, awkwardly shifting back and forth. She looks at him with an apologetic smile.

"Am I going to fail this unit?" He blurts out worriedly.

"Oh, no, Matthew." She reassures him quickly. "I can't even figure it out! Someone must have contacts." Smiling, she hands him back the paper and a little unsure, he heads off to English.

"How was school?" His mother asks when he walks into the kitchen and tosses his backpack on a chair.

"Ok." He says, shrugging.

"Learn anything new?" She asks, pulling cookies from the oven. He grabs the milk and fills up two glasses.

"No, but something weird happened in science today." He tells her as she slides the warm cookies onto a plate and sets it between the two of them. "Do you or dad wear contacts?"

"No, why?" She asks quizzically and he just gives a little shrug, tearing a cookie in two and dunking it in milk.

"Nothing, we were just doing this gene worksheet and I must be doing it wrong, because we can't figure out why I have blue eyes when everyone in our family has brown." He explains and doesn't appear to notice that his mother freezes.

"Well," She says with forced lightness. "Maybe you should pay better attention in science then mister." Abruptly, she stands, kissing his forehead. "I love you so much, do you know that?"

"Of course," He says, startled. "I love you too mom." Nodding, she walks into the bathroom. He finishes his cookies and heads to his room, picking up the magazine he was reading before bed last night and flipping through, wondering how old he'll have to be before his parents will let him buy a motorcycle.

* * *

 _Jax's thoughts in the market_

I need to find him. I need to find the kid. I need to find my kid. Abel. Abel. Abel. Where is my son? Where is my kid?

Crying. A baby crying. Abel. He cries like that when Tara wakes him up from a nap, before he's ready. That cry, I've heard it every night since he's been home. That has to be my son. It needs to be my son.

Abel. Abel. Abel. Does that woman know she's holding my son? Does she know how he came to be in her arms? Does she know he was ripped away from a loving family and home?

Of course not. Look at how she cradles him. She's not as natural as Tara, but she holds him close, like she never wants to let him go.

And that man, how he helps guide her… They've never had a fight in their life, about murders and drugs and guns. They've never been at each other's throats. Abel's life with them will be blissfully peaceful.

How do I get him back? Follow them to wherever they go, drag them into a dark alley, threaten them. Or do I steal him back, try to explain to them that he's my son, I love him, he's got a family already? He has a mother already.

Of course they go to the marketplace. All these people. Follow, but not to close. Close enough, I can see Abel's eyes… Will he look up and see me? Cry out for his father? Or has he forgotten already? Me and Tara and mom and Clay and the club? Has he forgotten us?

Her laugh. She's happy. She has a child in her arms, a child they likely struggled hard to get. A child they deeply desired and wanted. A baby to love and raise. To them, Abel isn't a drunken one-night mistake almost killed by meth and worse. He is perfect, a smiling cherub of a boy. A gift.

I could reach out and touch him. Feel his soft skin. Does he still smell like the soap Tara uses or has Ireland taken that from him? I can take another step, but do I want to? How do I ruin this moment?

A new hat. Abel's reaper hat, where is it? Pressed somewhere in his room or did Tara and I destroy that too in our rage? We need Abel to fix us. I cannot go home with this guilt in my heart and she cannot live with the blame. We need our son, we need him.

But they look like good parents. Fixing and fussing over him. Kissing his head. Have they seen the scar on his stomach yet? Do they know? Or are they blind to how my son entered the world, a fighter from his first breath?

With this family, that could disappear. His past, our past, our awful mistakes, they could disappear. He could have better. He could do better. God, he's so young. So pure and perfect and happy. When was I last like that? The day Tommy was born? I lost it the day he died.

They help the poor. They love each other. And they walk past him without a second glance, no worries in their eyes that someone might be trying to kill them or kidnap them. They are blissfully happy.

There goes my son. I could reach out. Touch him. Snatch him. Hold my gun up and tell them I will kill him if they don't run. Take him back to Charming and chaos and danger.

How long until I lose him again? Until his life gets put in danger again? I am a worse father than my own, because at least he wanted better for us. Am I selfish or am I noble, giving my son his best chance at life?

He is my everything. I love him.

Maybe that's why I have to let him go.

Maybe no son of mine will wear the reaper.

And no son of mine will die a bloody death before his time.

* * *

 _"Tara's pregnant!"_

He's had an idea in his head for as long as he can remember of how Tara will tell him she's pregnant. How she'll blush, her eyes downwards as she tells him then flicking her gaze up through her eyelashes, watching his reaction. He'll laugh in disbelief then kiss her deeply and rest his hand on her stomach.

He did not expect the words to be yelled at him by his mother, with spite and rage. Her fury is tangible and it cuts through Jax's hazy confusion like a knife. He stares at her in shock and all he can think about is he doesn't want it like this.

He wants Tara to tell him. He wants her to wind her fingers into his hair and smile at him in that sly, knowing way she has. She should be whispering it in his ear, telling him between kisses, muttering it as she crawls on top of him.

But once he gets past that, the fact that he's going to have another child, another son like his mother thinks, makes him freeze. Tara, pregnant. The dream and the fear since he was 16. There's a part of him that's still a teenager, whispering in his ear, that this is bad, his mother will kill him.

The rest of him wants to jump up and down in glee. A baby with the love of his life. A tiny thing that is half him and half her and all love. A tinge of guilt crosses his mind- will he love this baby more than Abel, because he never loved Abel's mother? He dismisses it as ridiculous. He will love his children equally.

Then real guilt crashes over him. He left things with Tara a mess. He'd kicked her out, reeled her back in, left her in the dirt, blamed her for the kidnapping of his baby, the baby that she cared for like her own, and then ran away to Ireland to forget about it all.

She might not even want to see him when he gets back. Fuck, he wouldn't want to see himself. She could take her baby, their baby, and leave, just like she did ten years ago. Except this time, she'd been taking more than just his heart.

A panic so large and real threatens to overwhelm him. He doesn't have Abel in his arms, he doesn't have Tara in his arms, he's lost and hopeless and clueless. His family is scattered and torn apart and he needs to be the man that pulls them back together.

All the sudden he has purpose again, the same kind of purpose that he felt when Donna died and he had to change the club. All his earlier thoughts are null and void. There is no Jax without Abel and if he returns to American soil without his son, Tara will never forgive him or herself.

That's how he can fix it. That's how he can come back to Tara, worthy of her love and forgiveness. He can put Abel in her arms and ask her, truly ask her, to raise his children and be their mother and love them unconditionally. He will return one son to her and promise to never leave the three of them ever again.

He will be the man and father she needs him to be. He will be the Jax Teller she deserves. He will tell her how much he loves her, how much he loves that unborn baby, He will go home with his whole family and he will raise them and he will never leave them.

He will not be his father.

 **AN:** Man honestly this chapter could just be titled 'AUs everywhere' but Trinity and Jax as siblings really grew on me because all evidence points to him being a wonderful big brother! Let me know your thoughts on this, we're almost done with season 3! (what.)


	38. Season 3- June Wedding

Episode 12: June Wedding

 _When Donna began to hate the club_

Three things in Donna's life have remained consistent for all of time. One, her father is a crazy, religion nut and he has cast her out of his life for her supposed 'transgressions'. Two, her mother will always be so deep down the bottle of pills, she'll never look up to see her daughter. And three, no matter how much Opie loves her and she loves him, all of his heart will never be her's. A part will always belong to SAMCRO.

And at first that didn't bother her. She hardly knew what SAMCRO was, only that her father hated those 'sinners' passionately. Dating Opie, those first years when they were both young kids, she didn't see much of the club anyways. They were off, exploring California and each other.

But then, he turned 17. And he started becoming a 'hang-around'. He and Jax dropped out of school that winter, got their GED's, and began to work. She hated it, going to school alone. Hated that he wasn't there, walking through the halls with her, smiling at her and glowering at others.

But it hardly affected their relationship. By the time she was done with school and homework, he'd be done with whatever the club was doing and he'd pick her up for ice cream or a burger. They were still happy, still in love.

Then he turned 18 and he could become a prospect. And that's when it began to change. The leather kutte seemed to alter him, make him quieter, more serious. And though there was moments when that same smile he had as a 16 year old would break through, she saw the change in him.

He joined the club and for awhile, it seemed like bliss. He had money, he bought a tiny little house and before long, before she had even graduated high school, it became her house too. Then she graduated and she knew that there was no way she'd leave Opie the way Tara had left Jax, so she gets a job as a secretary at a credit union and works during the day and loves him at night.

He proposed in the middle of a hot summer. It was a small wedding, right near Opie's birthday, full of club members and the few people in Donna's family she wanted in her life. Even then, she didn't hate the club. How could she?

They brought over gently used furniture for the still slightly empty house. They shared recipes with her, let her borrow a cup of butter, invited them to Friday night grill outs. Half her life revolved around being an old lady.

Then she got to tell her husband that he was going to be a father, even if it was a little sooner than either of them had anticipated. They had a little girl that fall, with her eyes and Opie's quiet, calm nature. They were young, in love, invincible. Crow eaters brought over cribs, highchairs, strollers, changing tables, the works. They were family and she loved them.

Their son came much to close after their daughter for it to be anything but an accident. But Donna was in love with their babies, both of them, and Opie recommended she quit work, just for a bit. He'd support them with the club and she could be the stay at home mother she'd always wanted to be. She agreed blindly, stupidly, happily.

And then it began.

"When are you going to be home?" She asks sharply, trying to keep the phone held between her ear and shoulder while bouncing Kenny so he doesn't break out wailing.

"I don't know." Opie's voice sounds distant and behind him, she can hear the noises of the club- the women laughing and joking, probably straddling him. Men yelling inaudible things, something on the TV, the clinking of beer bottles and whiskey glasses. "Kyle and I are doing something for the club tonight."

"Like what, hookers?" She asks curtly and as if on command, Ellie begins to wail.

"Donna, no." He says tiredly. "Listen, I have to go."

"Where are you—" She starts, but he's already gone. Grumbling in frustration, she slams the phone down on the counter, serving to only startle Ken and set him off crying too. Cursing under her breath, she goes to attempt to calm her children.

She wrestles them through bathes and brushing their teeth, forcing both screaming children into their pajamas and then their cribs. They're still sobbing, loudly, when she shuts the door and walks back into the kitchen.

She takes one look around at the mess and chaos that surrounds her. The furniture, covered in stains. Her floor, sticky from where Ken spilled his apple juice. Her counters, covering in bills, papers, and god knows what else. Her living room, covered in toys and dust, a stray plate with half a piece of pizza on it the only evidence that Opie has eaten a meal at home within the last week.

She looks down at herself, in Opie's faded teeshirt and the shorts she painted the nursery in, flecked with gray and pink. Her hair is greasy, unwashed, and her stomach still bulges out with the last remaining bit of baby weight she can't lose. The deep circles under her eyes, lunch still stained on her shirt, her jagged fingernails.

She promptly bursts into tears.

She wants her husband home. She wants those long nights back, the ones when they curled up under the sheets and talked about anything and everything. She'd even settle for him just being home, period, for longer than ten minutes. They haven't slept together in weeks, more like two separate planets circling their suns- for her, it's the children and for him, the club.

It's in this moment that she realizes she hates the club. Hates how because Gemma gave her a kitchen table, she expects Donna's loyalty. How if Opie worked a normal job, he'd be home for supper, to wash Ken's dirty nose, to read Ellie a bedtime story in his even, deep tone. He wouldn't be surrounded by strippers and pornstars, where infidelity is standard.

She wants her husband back, her love back, the man that looked at her with love in his eyes even when they were teenagers. She doesn't want to be some old, used up woman. She wants to feel desired, wanted, adored. Instead she cries, sitting on the floor in the kitchen, waiting for her husband to come home.

And the night that he doesn't, when she's left to raise two small children on her own as he sits in prison for five years, that's when she knows. SAMCRO has ruined her life, her children's lives, and she hates them for it.

* * *

 _Why Tara is so calm_

Jax will come for me.

That's the only thing on Tara's mind, as she sits, sweat trickling down her lower back and temples. She's dehydrated, at least a little bit, judging from the pounding, dull headache she's got going. She'd give anything to stretch her shoulders out and getting her neck massaged.

Jax will come for me.

It doesn't matter that he practically kicked her out of his house and life. It doesn't matter that he fled across the ocean and she hadn't heard anything from him sense. None of this matters, because she's got complete and utter faith in him.

Jax will come for me.

It beats a steady rhythm in her head, the surefire belief that she doesn't need to have fear. She's going to get through this and she will be fine. She's not dead yet and she counts that as a victory. Besides, it's not even the worst thing she's lived through recently- becoming a murderer trumps this, easily.

Jax will come for me.

She's always had an iron will. She's not sure when she cultivated it, whether it was during those years her father slipped further and further from sanity or the years afterwards when she was on her own and she refused to even let herself even consider coming home. But now she uses it, keeping the nagging voice in her head that's telling her she's in danger quiet.

Jax will come for me.

She loathes feeling like the damsel in distress. She hates it even more because of the nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her that Gemma Teller would never stand for this, would never allow this. But then she reminds herself that Gemma is human too and she hurt for the club, but came out the other end stronger. And Jax's reaction when his mother was hurt only makes her more certain what he'll do when he finds out she's been taken.

Jax will come for me.

Her mind ticks along rationally, the doctor in her mentally taking notes of her condition, stacking them up against the developments of her baby, trying to guess how it's going to be affected. She's not sure if this is making her more sane or less, but it gives her a margin of control in the situation where she has none.

Jax will come for me.

It keeps her calm, this knowledge that burns in her heart. Jax will come for her. He will untie her, kiss her head, her stomach, her lips, and then she will be safe. She repeats this to herself when she feels like she'll go mad, when the ache gets a little sharper, when her stomach grumbles loudly.

Jax will come for me.

He loves her, he always has, and one small fight between them doesn't change that. It doesn't change anything. He loves her and the second he finds out she's in danger, he will pull apart heaven and earth to find her. Her and this baby.

Jax will come for both of us.

* * *

 _Jax and Tara's reuniting_

"I need to talk to Tara." Jax is protesting to the SWAT guy but he clearly has no idea who Jax is talking about, because he frowns at him and waves a hand. Jax shifts impatiently from foot to foot, craning his neck to see if he can spot Tara. He needs to see her, reassure himself that she's ok.

"I'm fine, let me see Jax!" Tara's voice echoes toward him and he can't help but smile. There's his girl. A second later, she rounds the corner and sees him.

"Tara!" He shoves his way through the SWAT officers and runs to her. She's as crazy eyed as before, hair messy and dirty, smelling like sweat and something a little more sinister. That doesn't matter to Jax- she's still the most wildly beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"Oh, Jax." She's been calm and composed through most of the ordeal, but now, as Jax's arms encircle her, the tears come. He clings to her, smoothing her hair down and kissing for forehead as they sink to the floor.

"Hey, I'm here. I'm here. I'm here. I love you and I am never leaving again." He mummers into her hair.

"Abel." She leans back with a gasp. "Jax, Abel-"

"He's fine." Jax promises, a smile breaking out on his face. "He's just fine Tara, he's better than fine."

"Oh thank god." Tara slumps in relief. "Oh, thank god."

"He misses his mother." He looks at her imploringly and a thin smile starts to clear her tears a little. "Speaking of mothers…" His hands drift from her hair down to her belly.

"Oh." She blinks a couple times in surprise. "Um, Jax…"

"My mom told me." He says ruefully and Tara rolls her eyes, covering his hands with her own.

"I wanted it to be different." She says quietly. "I wanted to tell you with roses or candles or supper or I don't know, something cute. Not in the middle of all this." She gestures to the chaos of the police around them, the wounds covering the two of them.

"This… This is us." He gives a small chuckle and presses their foreheads together. "God, I am so glad you're ok."

"I'm glad you're here too." She says quietly and they shut their eyes for a long moment, tuning out the world around them until the medics drag them to ambulances.

"She's pregnant." Jax says needlessly, kneeling next to Tara on the gurney and holding her hand.

"Mr. Teller we appreciate your input." The man says politely. "But you've told us this 15 times."

"I just want to make sure." He mutters, rubbing Tara's hand with his thumb and watching her warily.

"We'll take her to the hospital where she can get a full assessment." This manages to calm Jax till they slam the doors shut and the ambulance rumbles off. Tara smiles up at him.

"How was it?" She asks him lowly as the medic bumbles with his emergency bag. "You know, with everything."

"It's fine." He says carefully. "He's home safe, we're whole, it's ok."

"Tell me more about Abel." She insists and he smiles, kissing her knuckles for a long moment.

"He's perfect Tara. Still got that gummy smile, his big blue eyes, he's starting to outgrow his clothes, he's going to need a whole new wardrobe soon, you should go shop for him, it think he's gonna…" Jax blathers until they get to the hospital, trying anything to keep Tara's mind off of it.

"Dr. Knowles." The admitting nurse in the ER looks startled at the sight of Tara being wheeled into the hospital, Jax jogging alongside her.

"She needs an ultrasound." Jax says to everyone and no one in particular. He helps ease Tara onto the exam table and then silence falls as the nurse goes to get a technician.

"It's gonna be ok." Tara keeps whispering this, to herself and Jax, rubbing circles on her stomach.

"Can you tell with… With it? Anything?" He asks anxiously and she shakes her head, sighing.

"I'm a doctor Jax, not a crystal ball. I'm can't magically tell what's going on in there." She says, mildly amused.

"Well, I don't know." Jax shrugs awkwardly. "It's not like I was really around the first time with Abel."

"You'll be around this time." The words are phrased as a statement, but the tone is questioning.

"Yes, I will." Jax inwardly winces at the lie, but he manages to keep his expression calm. "Tara, I'm sorry for what I said before… Before I left. You know I didn't mean any of it."

"I know." She says quietly, squeezing his hand. "I know Jax, I understand why you did it, I get it. I just…"

"What?" He asks, looking at her.

"You're not just back because of this, right?" She gestures to her stomach and he sighs.

"Tara, I'm back because I love you." He declares. "I love you so much. This, it's just a cherry on top."

"Ok good." She relaxes somewhat. Jax leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead and then gently, to her lips.

"Hello." The ultrasound technician eases into the room, breaking their quiet moment. "Dr. Knowles, how are you feeling?"

"Um, fine." Tara says quietly. Jax, unsure of what his role is here, settles next to her. "I want to make sure the little one is too."

"Then let's check." The nurse gives a encouraging smile and grabs gel, covering Tara's belly.

"Boy or girl?" Jax asks her under his breath.

"We won't be able to find out." Tara informs him.

"I know, but what's in your heart?" He asks and a slow smile starts to unfurl as she ducks her head.

"You Jax Teller, you've always been in my heart." She smiles at him like he's sunshine and then the heartbeat of the baby fills the room and Jax wants to fall to his knees.

As they walk out of the hospital, Tara still wiping tears of joy off her face, Lyla arrives, fast walking on those long legs of hers. Clutched in her arms is a bouncing Abel.

"Tara, he…" Lyla doesn't get anything else out. Tara has snatched Abel from her arms and is sobbing anew, clutching Abel to her chest. Jax wraps his arms around his family and tries to convey how grateful he is for Lyla and Opie with his eyes. Lyla clasps her hands together and beams.

"Abel, oh I'm here, I'm never leaving you again, ever again, you're staying right here with me forever and ever." She's crying and laughing and Jax hasn't felt this happy in years. He knows it won't last, but for this moment, on the steps of St. Thomas in the sun, with his son and the love of his life carrying his next child, he thinks that all the hell lately has been worth it.

* * *

 _Opie's proposal to Donna_

"But are you really sure about this?" Jax asks skeptically, leaning on the handlebars of his bike. Opie, smoking, gives him an exasperated look.

"How many times are you going to ask that question?" He demands, putting the cigarette and stomping it out with his heavy biker boots.

"At least once a day and twice when you're standing on the alter." Jax says instantly. "Op, this is marriage you're talking about!"

"I know Jax." He plucks the ring from a small pocket inside his kutte and lifts it up, inspecting it. It was his grandmother's, given to Piney when she had passed when Opie was young. Piney had given it to Opie with a sneer, saying that marriage and wives are a waste of time.

But Donna is different. He loves her. He can't imagine a day without her and her smile, rolling over and finding her small, sleepy body entangled in the sheets. The way she always makes eggs and pancakes for breakfast, pouring so much syrup on her pancakes that it nearly overflows the plate. The smell of her fruity body wash that lingers in the bathroom, long after she's gotten out of the shower and headed to work.

"Well I think you're absolute nuts." Jax is saying loudly, off to one side. "Love isn't real, it isn't meant to last, it's stupid and pointless, because women only—"

Opie tunes him out, not intentionally, just out of habit. Tara had barely been gone a year and Jax hadn't found anyone to move on with, just a steady stream of girls in his bed. He was bitter and crabby about anything to do with love, so Opie didn't expect his best friend to be excited for him.

"Jax." Opie cuts him off midstream, glancing at him. Jax quiets, glancing at him. "I'm asking Donna to marry me today. Leave it be."

"Well, I know she makes you happy brother." Jax admits, softening some. "And I know she loves you. So good luck. Go get her." He clasps Ope's shoulder and then Clay and the rest of the club walks out of the warehouse, nodding to them. The run has been successful, the guns assembled and handed off. They ride back to the clubhouse and Jax promptly buries himself in a bottle with a stripper.

Opie freshens up, splashing water on his face and cleaning the dirt out from under his nails. He checks, for the millionth time, that the ring is still safe in his pocket. He straightens his kutte out, the leather still stiff and new. Soon, he knows, it'll be comfortably creased and worn in. He kicks off his work boots and pulls on his nice black ones, brushing dust off his jeans.

"You look nice." His father comments from the doorway. He glances at him, lacing up his boots.

"Thanks." He says gruffly. His father watches him with a critical eye silently. Opie has no desire to explain his plans to his father- as much as Piney loves Donna, he thinks all relationships are mistakes, doomed to fail.

"Going to see Donna?" He asks, as Opie gets up and tugs his hat on.

"Taking her to Stockton's waterfront." With that, Opie lets his father make his own assumptions and pushes past him, nodding to Clay and Jax as he departs. He heads home, his nerves rushing through him. He walks into their house, listening for Donna.

She's singing some trashy pop song in their bedroom, so he knows she must be showered, dressed, and done her hair, now finishing up her makeup. She always sings while doing her makeup. He leans against the doorframe and smiles, watching her dance around in a light purple dress.

"Oh, hi you." She says cheerfully, spotting him in the mirror. "I'm almost ready."

"Take your time, you look amazing." He says quietly. She sticks her tongue out then swipes on a little more lipgloss, grabbing her purse.

"No bike today, let's take the truck. My hair actually looks good this time." She pats it with a grin and he has to admit it does, so he follows her outside and to the truck, opening the door for her. The entire way to Stockton, she's chatty, telling him about her day at work and all the drama and who's pregnant.

"Wanna go for a walk down by the waterfront before dinner? We're a little early." He says, straining to keep his voice even and his palms from sweating.

"Oh, sure." She says in surprise, easily adapting to the change of plans. "Anyways, as I was saying, Shelly is pregnant, but Dan moved out months ago…" They wander down to the water and Opie sees the bench where he first kissed her. He tries to guide her towards it without being obvious. "I always love this place." She says suddenly, pausing and wrapping her arms around herself, looking out over the water towards the pink sky.

"Why's that?" He asks, sounding slightly strangled.

"It's where we first kissed." She's not looking at him, but a faint smile appears on her lips. "You bought me ice cream. It was our first date and I was shocked you noticed me, much less asked me out." Not sure how much more perfect it can get, he licks his dry lips and pulls the ring from his pocket, slowly dropping onto one knee. Donna, frowning slightly, turns to look at him, her mouth already opening to ask him what he's doing. Then she freezes.

"Donna," He says quietly and her eyes are wide in astonishment, shaking her head back and forth. "I love you. I'm not a man of many words, but these ones feel right. Will you marry me?"

"What?" She demands, shocked and he wiggles the ring a little bit, a sheepish grin on his face. "Opie! Oh! Yes!"

"Really?" He asks, a little stunned that she's agreeing to marry him.

"Yes!" The tears are in full flow; she's sniffling and dabbing at her eyes, trying to salvage her makeup. With trembling hands, he slides the ring onto her finger, admiring how it looks for a long moment. Then he kisses her deeply and she's laughing and hugging him, talking about how of course he would do it here, this bench where they fell in love.

He's just watching her, beaming, wondering how anyone could not love her forever.

 **AN:** Listen to 'Holdin' Her' by Chris Janson- I always thought that was Donna and Opie's song. But! Jax and Tara love, and a lot of Donna and Opie love. (Guess where my head is at.) Please leave a review!


	39. Season 3- NS

Episode 13: NS

 _How Opie and Lyla tell the kids_

"Well, do you wanna tell them or should I?" Opie mutters, wrapping his arms around her. Lyla, slicing up bacon to add to the mac and cheese, smiling and leans back into his embrace.

"Why can't we do it together?" She asks innocently and he lets himself smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well then by all means let's do it together." He says agreeably.

"Over ice cream." She orders, scraping the cutting board as she adds the bacon before grabbing the ladle to stir it.

"Ice cream." Opie repeats, backing off some.

"Sure." She smiles at him over her shoulder. "The kids love getting ice cream with their dad. If we want them happy and agreeable, ice cream is the smoothest way to do it."

"You're a good mom, you know that?" He observes and she turns to look at him with a quizzical expression. "You are. You know them so well." She grins, taking bowls from the cupboard and filling them.

"It's easy to know someone well when you love them." She comments, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes. He thinks it over, grabbing the milk from the fridge.

"Kids, food!" He yells and there's a scramble from the living room, the kids yelling over the top of each other as they barrel into the kitchen.

"Ok, Ellie, here's your bowl, extra noddles and less bacon," She hands the red bowl to Ellie, who grins and takes a spoon from the counter. "And Pips, extra cheese," He takes the bowl that looks more like cheesy soup than mac and cheese, grinning. "And Kenny, extra, well, everything." Kenny's bowl is by far the biggest.

"What about me?" Opie teases, raising an eyebrow.

"You get extra bacon." She retorts, handing him his bowl with a wink. "And extra love." She kisses him, grabbing her salad from the fridge. The kids are quiet, busy funneling food into their mouths. Lyla pauses in picking the cherry tomatoes from her salad to fill bowls for seconds.

"How do you guys feel about ice cream after supper?" Opie asks and their eyes light up as they shout their approval.

"Finish up and go wash hands and faces then." Lyla says, laughing. Ken and Piper fight over who gets the bathroom first while Ellie wisely uses the kitchen sink.

"I'll throw this stuff in the dishwasher." Opie says, stopping Lyla from starting to wash dishes. "You go grab a sweater. It's getting cold." She smiles and kisses his cheek, disappearing back to the bedroom.

"Why are we getting ice cream?" Ellie asks curiously and he looks at her. She's gazing up at him with her mother's eyes- the same exact shade, the same exact flecks and spark in them…

"For a fun surprise." He tells her, drawing himself out of the past with a great effort.

"Good." She says happily and he frowns slightly, wondering where she's going with this. "I like when things around here are happier."

"Me too." He says quietly, pulling his extremely perceptive firstborn into a rare hug. He lets her go so that he can prevent Piper from running outside without any shoes on.

"Man, I'm so excited." Ken declares, running a ways ahead of them. Piper goes between walking at his mother's side to darting out front with Ken, the two of them bickering. Ellie walks at her father's side while Opie and Lyla's hands are intertwined in the middle.

"For ice cream?" Lyla asks in amusement.

"Yeah." He says easily, jumping up onto a rock landscaping wall beside them and balancing as he walks along it. "We're not all together very often."

"Well that's going to change soon." Lyla says mysteriously and before the kids can bug her for an answer, they round a corner and the ice cream store is within view. Here, they let the kids run ahead of them eagerly, the bell over the door chiming loudly as they enter.

Ken gets his mint chocolate chip, Piper gets more sprinkles than ice cream, and Ellie gets chocolate in every form. Opie sticks to a plain root beer float and Lyla settles for a small vanilla cone, smiling as she has to set it aside to keep drips from getting on Ken's shorts, Piper's hands, everywhere.

"Guys." Opie says, stopping the argument over what cartoon villains are the worst. They hush, looking at him with just a hint of worry. Their quiet father doesn't speak much and usually only when it's serious. "How do you guys feel about this?" He gestures to himself and Lyla.

"You and mama?" Piper questions seriously, his little eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Yes, us being together." Opie smiles as Lyla wipes a sprinkle off Piper's nose with an exasperated look.

"I like it." Ellie says with supreme indifference. Opie raises an eyebrow. "It's nice having a girl around so I'm not so outnumbered." She smiles at Lyla who grins back and wraps a tiny arm around the girl's shoulder.

"What about you Pips?" Lyla urges her son, who shrugs and picks a sprinkle from his shirt. It leaves behind a small yellow stain.

"I like us." He agrees. Opie raises an eyebrow at Ken, who looks down and gives a little shrug.

"I like that Lyla's here to take care of us." He says quietly and Opie's heart feels torn in two. All Donna would've wanted was for him to love his children, hold them tight so that they knew their worth. He'd failed her. But that's why he has to have Lyla, has to have her love to link them all back together.

"Well how would you feel about me taking care of you for a little longer?" Lyla asks gently and he's brought back from his musing, back to real life and his little, frail family.

"I mean, you and Piper already live with us." Ellie points out, her eyebrows furrowing.

"We were thinking something a little more long-term and a little more official." Lyla glances at him and he takes that as his signal to jump in.

"I was thinking about marrying Lyla." He says quietly and the reactions around the table for different. Ellie gasps, clapping her hands together. Piper frowns, not sure of what this means. Ken is quiet, watching his father.

"Is that ok with you guys?" Lyla's voice is falsely cheery, glancing around at them all, her fear hidden by bright eyes and an unwavering smile.

"Sure." Piper says first, though he's the youngest and likely has no clue what it means.

"I mean, I like it." Ellie agrees and she gives Lyla a smile. Opie is momentarily lost, wondering if there's anything of his dead wife's that Ellie didn't inherit before Ken gets up and throws his ice cream away in the garbage with a loud clang, walking down the street.

"Watch Piper." Lyla orders Ellie, getting up and following Ken. Opie follows her, trailing behind a little. "Kenny, let's talk about it." She calls.

"You're not my mom!" He yells back and Opie is surprised to see tears on his son's cheeks.

"I know that." Lyla has a lopsided smile, kneeling next to him and taking his hands in her own, rubbing circles with her thumbs. "I know I'm not her Kenny and I promise that I will never try to be her."

"But you're marrying my dad." He protests, trying to tug away from her but Lyla holds fast.

"I know, I know." She reassures him. "But I know what I am. I am Piper's mom and I'll be your father's wife, but I will never, ever be your mother. That is not my job. That is her job."

"She's dead." Ken's tears are thickening and Lyla looks so sad, watching the little boy and his angry, wrinkled nose.

"Oh, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you. She loves you so much Kenny and that will follow you every day. That is never a job I will take. I just want to help." She looks at him imploringly, tears threatening. "I can't love you like she did, but I can be here every day to pack your lunch and help you with math and make you clean your room. I don't want to replace your mother. I just want the chance to be there for you."

"What if I forget her? What if you start to become my mom?" He asks, sniffling and Lyla smiles, drawing him into a tight hug.

"Then you can talk to me and we'll remember her." She promises, stroking his hair and rubbing his back. "I'll never let you forget her, sweetie. But I will love you." Swiping away his tears, Kenny looks at his dad.

"I don't want to forget mom." He admits and Opie gives a small smile.

"Me either buddy." He admits, kneeling so that Kenny can hug him. "And I promise we won't, ok? But I love Lyla and she loves you and it would make us happier to be all together."

"Ok." He relents, sniffling, turning and offering an unsure smile to Lyla. "I want us happy."

"Me too." Lyla gives a watery smile and presses a kiss to the top of his head. They walk back to the table, picking up Piper and Ellie before the little family of five walks home.

* * *

 _The first time Jax visits John's grave_

The windows of Piney's old truck are rolled down. Jax sits in the passenger side, looking out the window, brooding. He's always brooding. Opie has the radio station on classic rock but it's low, muted.

For early December, it's not that cold out, enough to warrant a thick sweatshirt and jeans. Jax is wearing an old, beaten up SAMCRO hoodie, one he'd gotten years ago, nearly drowning in the fabric, but that's ok. He needs comfort today and this sweatshirt provides it.

He focuses on how strange it is that Opie can drive instead of thinking about their destination. He'd gotten a motorcycle for his birthday, half a gift from Piney and half all his life's savings. The only thing that stopped Jax from going green with envy is the knowledge that in a few short months, he'll join him.

But for now, Opie shuttles him around like a mother hen. Jax doesn't mind that his best friend seems to be glued to his side. He expects that it's under his mother's orders. He's just glad that his best friend is home.

Even if he makes him do stuff like this. Because even though this whole thing screams 'Gemma's idea' he knows it was Opie. His mother doesn't know that he's never visited his father's grave, even though it's nearly been a month. She doesn't know that at his funeral, Jax stood at the back of the church rather than follow everyone out graveside. That he turned and walked down a dirt path away from it all. That he hasn't grieved. His constant anger, how he runs from his problems rather than face them.

His mother doesn't know any of these things. But Opie does.

The truck slides to a stop on the gravel parking lot. Opie shuts it off and they sit in silence for a while. Jax appreciates that he's not pushing him or chattering, but Opie's never been one to talk to fill the silence. He trusts that Jax will go when he's ready.

He might as well get it over with. He sighs and opens the door, getting out. Opie is a half step behind him, keeping a reasonable distance but always close enough to stop Jax from doing something stupid- apparently he hasn't forgotten that evening on the cliff overlooking the highway.

The rows of veteran's graves seem to stretch forever. All of Charming's bravest and finest, with little American flags sticking out from the ground. He moves through the rows slowly, looking at the dates on the stones. World War Two. Korea. That man was only 21 when he died. That one, 25. A couple rows later, 87. Short lives, long lives.

He doesn't want to think. He wants to block out the thoughts in his head. He's always been a writer. Taking emotions, embellishing them, expanding on them, exploring them, diving deeper in them, examining them with a fine tooth comb. It's exhausting, the way his grief overwhelms him, constantly making himself question if this is a real feeling or simply his mind making things worse than it really is.

He knows where the tombstone is. Opie does too, because he's not following Jax, just walking behind slowly. Jax knows he could take a more direct route but he doesn't want to. He wants to turn and run away, but he doesn't, mostly because as much as he had fought coming here, he knows he needs it.

And suddenly, all too suddenly, he's there. Somehow, he thought it would be worse. Like storms and rain would be falling down nonstop over the stone. But it's white and gleaming in the sunlight, perfectly in line with all the other stones, totally normal to anyone else.

John Thomas Teller, with the Reaper and the cross. Fitting, for his father. SAMCRO was his religion. His rank, his troop, his war. Vietnam. He lived through hell only to come home and get killed thirty miles from home. And the quote, a nod to everything his father was.

We fight because we believe.

He sits down on the ground with a thump. The double meaning makes him want to laugh. Anyone passing through the cemetery would pass it without a second glance, the perfect quote for a solider who had believed in his country and fought for his country.

But that's where the irony gets so damn beautiful because Jax knows that his father had hated that war, hated how he was treated after, hated the attitude towards it, everything. He hated Vietnam. He hated that people said it with disgust. He hated that society owed them so much and gave them so little.

That's what SAMCRO had been. It had been his father's way of fighting back at the typical, traditional society that had done nothing for him and his brothers. Because he had believed in his club, in the brotherhood, in the life spent on the road, with nothing but freedom.

Jax puts his head in his hands and he's laughing even as the tears start to come up because it's absurd that his father, the man that had been larger than life for all of Jax's life is here, buried. The man that had founded the only life Jax has ever known is here and when Jax reads those words, he can almost hear his father saying them to him, with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Jax." Opie's voice is far away and worried. "Everything ok?"

"It's so him, you know?" Jax says thoughtfully and Opie sits next to him, likely wondering if his best friend has gone completely mad. "A complete contradiction. Like they put a cross on this so he would seem like some good Christian, but he put he Reaper on there. The quote is for some good man, but we know it's about believing in our outlaw life, not some government's war."

"That does sound like your dad." Opie says thoughtfully.

"I don't think it's real yet." Jax admits hollowly. "Like with Tommy, I couldn't accept it. He's just gone, for a little bit. He'll be back soon. It's not real yet. I don't know if it ever will be. Maybe he's just in prison, that's what my mind tells me. On a run for the club. He'll be back."

"It'll get real later, you know." Opie mummers and Jax reflects with bitterness that they're young and they shouldn't know the stages of grief so intimately yet. But they do, because the life John Teller created, fought for, and died for is not an easy one and it's taken men from them before.

"He's not here anyway." Jax says, getting up and brushing his hands off. Opie stands, looking at him worriedly. "He's out there." Jax gestures up to the sky. "I'll find him on my bike. He would never stay here. He's out there, free. I'll find him right around 90 miles per hour." He says confidently and then the dam breaks. He leans onto his father's stone, sobbing hard.

He hadn't really cried for his father and now the month of pushing it to the side catches up with him and he weeps openly. Opie rests a hand on his shoulder, keeping him upright until Jax finally loses all his tears.

"Let's go home." Opie says quietly and Jax nods, leaning on him for support. He glances over his shoulder at that headstone and makes a silent promise to his father that he won't visit him there- he'll visit him on a bike.

* * *

 _Tara in Jax's clothes_

It started with that flannel. He'd given it to her with a ready smile and hardly thought anything of it. It looked better on her anyways, he realized. So he never asked for it back and she never offered.

But now he stands before his closet and ponders why he only has one sweatshirt and a couple old ratty tee shirts when his mom just did laundry. He checks the clock and smiles. Tara will be home from school soon and he's got a good idea of where all his clothes are anyways.

He takes the nicest shirt of the motley bunch off the hanger and pulls it on, wondering when was the last time he wore it. Junior high? Maybe? He grabs the keys from the little dish by the door and walks out, not bothering to lock the house behind him. It's Charming. Who would be crazy enough to try to break into Clay Morrow's house?

The day is warm and pleasant. He's oddly glad for his thin shirt, smiling as he thinks about what they could do today. Maybe Tara will put on that yellow swimsuit he loves so much and they can go down to the pond to swim. School just started, she shouldn't have much homework yet.

He pulls into the driveway, absentmindedly noting that Tara's father isn't home. The curtains are fluttering in the breeze, so at least he knows Tara is. He opens the door with the key she'd given him- she likes to have the doors locked against her father at all time- and walks in.

"Tara." He calls and she looks up from the kitchen table, smiling.

"Well hello you. I wasn't expecting you to come over." Her smile is warm even if there's a faint crease of confusion between her eyebrows. "And what are you wearing?"

"Do you like it?" He asks mockingly, spinning with his arms held high. "I've had it since I was like 12."

"It looks like it went to a war and back with you." Tara says in disbelief. "My grandma turns shirts like that into rags. Like rags for washing garage floors, not even dishes."

"Guess why I'm wearing it." He leans against the counter and folds his hands in front of him.

"Because your mom didn't do the laundry and you're more likely to wear old clothes than attempt to wash a load?" She tries and he shakes his head. "Uh, you had to go to the shop and you didn't want to get anything dirty?" Again, a headshake no. "I don't know." She gives up.

"I don't have anything else." He states, watching her expression. She sets down her pencil, leaning her chin in her hand, raising one arched eyebrow.

"That's a lie."

"No it's not." He says seriously. "I opened my closet today and this was the nicest shirt I could find."

"I know you have nicer shirts than that." She protests, turning back to her homework with an eye roll.

"Oh, I sure do." Jax agrees easily. "Let's go find them shall we?" He starts walking for her bedroom. Curious, Tara leaps up and follows after him.

"Are you implying I have stolen all of your clothes?" She asks, sitting on her bed with an amused expression.

"That is exactly what I'm going to prove." With a dramatic flourish, he opens the door to her closet. She watches, impassive. "What's this?" He moves her shirts to reveal the sweatshirt section of it. She wrinkles her nose.

"So I have a couple sweatshirts, they don't fit you anyways." She reasons. "You gave them to me freely."

"6, 7, 8," He counts loudly. "12. You have 12 of my sweatshirts Tara!"

"They're comfy." She says defensively.

"I'm taking 9 back. You can keep 3." He says flatly and she grumbles, before picking out a SAMCRO zip-up, an oversized REAPER hoodie, and a Teller-Morrow crewneck. "Thank you." He shoved the sweatshirts into an old backpack. "Next section, anything you wanna confess?"

"Ok, so I had a couple sweatshirts." Tara shrugs, folding her remaining three neatly on her bed. "You leave stuff here sometimes."

"Like 7 long sleeves?" He asks with a tilt of his head, the hangers dangling from one finger.

"Can I keep this one?" Tara doesn't bother defending herself, just leaps up and snatches back a faded cotton one, soft to the touch.

"Sure, but I'm taking the rest." He warns her. She rolls her eyes.

"You're so dramatic Jackson." She says, lying back down on her bed.

"Well it's hard not be be dramatic when your girlfriend has oh, 8 of your flannels and button ups." He gives her a stern look.

"I want to keep that one." Tara says instantly, pointing to the first flannel. "I sleep in that."

"Of course you keep this one." He says, softening slightly and kissing her forehead. "You'll always get to keep that one. But I need some back Tara."

"Fine." She takes her flannel and pouts, clutching it like a small child holds a stuffed animal.

"Should I even look and see how many shirts are in your drawers?" He asks and she grins sheepishly.

"You take them off and leave them here!" She insists and he pulls a stack a foot high from her drawer.

"I need these back." He says flatly when she opens her mouth to make an argument for them.

"But I look so much better in them than you." She says slyly, standing up and wrapping her arms around his waist. "You know I do, me in your bed, nothing but a tee-shirt on…" She kisses him and for a moment he's distracted by the fantasy and then he snaps back.

"Unless you want me parading around town shirtless, I need them back." He says firmly.

"Fine." She glowers, stealing a couple off the top for good measure. "Be a turd about it then."

"They're my shirts!" He says incredulously. She smirks.

"What about the whole, what's mine is yours thing?" She points out and he rolls his eyes.

"I don't think that applies until marriage." He says thoughtfully.

"Then marry me." Tara is sitting on her bed with a grin on her face and Jax can't resist smiling back.

"Sure." He agrees easily. "And then you can steal all the clothes you want, because they'll just end up back in our closet anyways where I can find them." He kisses her forehead when she makes a face.

"They're just so much comfier than mine." She says mournfully, watching as he packs the backpack and zips it shut.

"I mean, my mom would probably order you some SAMCRO stuff if you want it." He says carefully. The club isn't a subject either of them bring up frequently, preferring to avoid it.

"But then it wouldn't smell like you." Tara easily avoids the topic.

"An answer for everything." Jax quips.

"Cause I'm the smart one in this relationship." Tara runs her hand through his hair, trying to draw him towards her bed.

"Maybe but I'm not stupid." He nuzzles her neck. "Just because you take your clothes off doesn't mean I'll give you some of mine."

"Fine, I'll take mine off for just one thing in return." Her voice is low and warm, drawing Jax in. He's never been able to say no to her anyways.

It isn't until that night when he's home and dumping his clothes out on his bed does he realize that another shirt is missing. He smiles to himself and shakes his head. He loves that girl in his clothes.

* * *

 _Gemma thinking she's going to lose Jax_

He'd always been a sunshine child. It was woven in his hair, like the golden rays of sun had been caught and folded into his strands, a halo of light for her angelic boy. His blue eyes, like he'd gazed into a blue sky and the sky had pooled there. His laugh, as light as a spring day and twice as bright.

He was always happiest in the sun. Didn't overheat like other kids. Could run and run and run in the sun, like solar panels were attached to soak up the energy and run him. She remembers a time at the beach; Jax couldn't have been much older than 3 or 4. He had been running wild, giggling, kicking up sand and relishing in the destruction of sand castles.

She remembers it so clearly, even though she doesn't know why. She remembers how the sunlight glinted off those blond locks, how he pushed them back with a sandy hand in concentration, the brown marring the otherwise perfect white-blond. His blue eyes, almost as blue as the sea, sparkling with mirth like only a mischievous boy's can.

He'd been tanned after a summer of playing in the yard, starting to lose his baby fat. She'd held him tightly and felt him changing that day, losing the squishiness of a baby. He was wild and chatty, whirling out of her arms and down to the water with his babbling carrying back to her.

John had been there too, she remembers vaguely, but she doesn't remember what he was doing. Playing with Jax? Or talking to leather covered men in the parking lot? With them or with the club? That doesn't matter. Jax had on a blue suit, faded from a summer of sunshine, with white along the sides and bottom, white strings tied beneath a tubby stomach.

He'd played for hours without getting tired, running on the energy of the sun. He'd brought up buckets of wet sand for mounds he declared castles, talking to her but mostly himself and she remembers thinking that he should have a young sibling, like a brother, that he could plot with.

Oh, she had been so happy that day. She hadn't worried about a single thing, especially not about hookers with perky boobs and low cut tops or dark skinned men on motorcycles with guns. She had been supremely unconcerned, all her attention on the golden boy ahead of her. Water and juice when he was thirsty, grapes when he was hungry, following him to the gentle, lapping waves, back up to the hot sand, over and over…

She was a mother, simply 'mama'. Not Gemma. Not Queen. Not anything. She was Jax's mother, he was her whole world. No, he was her sun and her son, what her world revolved around, giving her life light and warmth and meaning. She was never more glad for the fact that every day, the sun and her son came up.

She has a memory, as clear as day; one she can conjure at any moment. She could sketch it out, describe it in writing, play it like a film. Jax, mid-stride, looking back at her, one knee rising, arms pumping, hair falling across his eyes, those blue orbs sparkling, a mirthful laugh falling off his lips.

Her sunshine boy, casting light everywhere he went. The light to her world all those times she needed it so desperately.

And now, as she puts the pieces together, sees the sneer on the agents' faces, and watches as Jax gets thrown into the same van as his brothers- his soon to be murderers- her world begins to go dark.

 **AN:** And end season 3! Wow, we are flying through these seasons. As always, I won't be posting next week to give myself a short break, but I promise we will resume on season 4. Please leave me bunches of reviews as a celebration? Thanks for reading!


	40. Season 4- Out

Season 4

Episode 1: Out

 _Thomas's birth_

She goes into labor in the middle of the night. Even though she is a doctor and she's walked hundreds of patients through this, she was not prepared to do it herself. For a second, she completely panics. What is she going to do? Then she remembers the ten page birth plan Gemma has created for her and she can't help but chuckle.

Her first step- cry for a minute. How she wants to roll over and shake Jax awake. He should be here, blinking at her blearily, wondering why she's waking him at 3 am. How he'd jump out of bed, stumbling into pants, forgetting her bag and remembering to grab his gun, while she sits on the edge of the bed and laughs. But he's not here.

So she goes to step two.

"Lyla?"

"Tara? What's wrong? Is everything ok? What time is it?"

"Lyla, I'm fine, everything's fine. It's 3 in the morning, but I've gone into labor."

"What? Oh my god, Tara!"

"I know, I know, can you come get Abel like we planned?"

"Of course!" She can vaguely hear the noises as Lyla rolls out of bed, muttering the news to Opie. Tara stands in the door to Abel's room, watching him sleep. "Have you called Gemma?"

"She's next." Tara smiles and gently shuts the door to Abel's room. "She'll take me to the hospital, but I don't want to wake Abel. He's going to have a long day ahead of him, he should get some sleep."

"Not as long a day as you." Lyla says cheerfully and Tara takes a deep breath, feeling a stronger contraction. "I'll be there in 10."

"10 points if you beat Gemma here." Tara smiles to herself at Lyla's snort.

"Unlikely."

Step three.

"Gemma."

"Tara, is it time?"

"It's time." The words makes Tara emotional. She shouldn't be calling Jax's mom. She should be telling him.

"I'll be there in 3 minutes." It sounds like Gemma is already in her car and Tara has a brief vision of Gemma sleeping, fully dressed, in her car, just anticipating this call. She wants to burst into giggles at the thought. "Do you need anything?"

"Nope." A stray thought that she really wants a pop tart crosses her mind and she wanders towards the kitchen. "I called Lyla, she's going to come watch Abel until he gets up. I didn't want to wake him, you know?"

"Always thinking of your son." Gemma sounds proud. "I'm on my way sweetheart."

"Ok." Tara hangs up and takes a bite of her chocolate pop tart, looking around thoughtfully. Where'd she put her hospital bag?

Step four.

"Tara." Gemma sounds like she's really trying to keep her calm but slowly losing it. "Please get in the car."

"Hold on, one more thing." Tara shushes her. Gemma, loaded down with the last 15 'one more thing' glares at her. Tara smiles apologetically and opens the door to Abel's room, sneaking in. She kneels next to Abel's little toddler bed, brushing his fuzzy blond hair gently off his forehead before pressing a gentle kiss to it. "I love you." She whispers. "Ok." She stands and walks out.

"Are we leaving now?" Gemma asks, just a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Lyla?" Tara asks. Lyla, brewing coffee, gives her the thumbs up.

"I'll bring him over to the hospital straight away once he's up." She promises. Tara takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders.

"Wait, I should clean up Abel's toys." She says suddenly and Gemma groans, catching her arm.

"I'll do it." Lyla promises, shooing her out the door. "Go, go, go! Go give birth."

Step five.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Pause. Contraction. Step. Step. Step. End of hallway. Turn. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Pause. Contraction. Step. Step. Step. Where is Gemma with her damn ice chips?

Step six.

"She's doing a natural birth." Gemma is talking to the doctor and Tara knows better then to open her eyes, because if she does, she'll roll them to high heaven. "She's been in labor since 3 am, the contractions are hard and about 3 minutes apart. She's dilated to 6 cm."

"Tara?" The doctor, a lovely old man by the name of George, asks her. Tara, bent over an exercise ball, glares at him. "How you feeling?"

"I'm in labor George!"

"She's doing great." Gemma tells him and Tara snaps her eyes back shut and tries to breathe.

Step seven.

"WHERE IS JAX I WANT TO PUNCH HIM IN THE FACE." Tara bellows and the nurses around her seem unfazed. Gemma, at her side, smoothes her hair back.

"You can punch him soon." She says soothingly. "Are you ready to push?"

"I want Jax here." Suddenly, Tara is crying and looking at Gemma earnestly. "I'm not strong like you, I can't do it without him."

"You can and you will." Gemma says reassuringly. "You'll do amazing Tara. Now have this baby. Meet your son."

Step eight.

Push. Push. Push. Breathe. Cry. Waves of pain. Next one coming. Push. Push. Push. Breathe. Cry. Tune out Gemma. Push. Harder. Breathe through waves of pain. Push. Push. Push.

Step nine.

"It's a boy!" Now she can sob. Gemma is clutching her hand and sobbing right with her.

Step ten.

"Is he healthy?" Tara is trying to calm her racing heart, but she needs to know. Her body is still weak, trying to recover. "His heart?"

"He's…" Gemma stops in the doorway and shakes her head. "Tara, he's perfect. You did so good mama. So good. A strong, healthy heart." Tara leans back and cries again. She's not sure she's stopped crying. Gemma comes to her side and takes her hand, pressing her forehead to hers. "I cannot thank you enough for giving me this perfect boy as my grandson. Thank you. Thank you."

"His name is Thomas." Tara whispers and Gemma leans back, startled. "His name is Thomas Cole Teller."

"I love you." Gemma says fiercely and she kisses Tara's forehead. "Let me go get you your sons."

"Sons." The plural sounds funny in Tara's mouth. "My sons."

Step eleven.

"Abel." Tara says quietly, as he stands uncertainly in the door. "Come in honey, meet your little brother."

"He's here now?" Abel asks quietly and Tara nods, patting the bed next to her.

"Yes, come meet him. Come meet Thomas, your little brother."

"Thomas?" Abel asks, clambering up. "Tommy." He says, looking down at him in awe. "I love you Tommy."

"He loves you." Tara whispers, kissing his head. "And I love you and Grandma Gemma loves you and daddy loves you."

Step twelve.

"Wow Tara." Lyla is standing at the head of her bed, looking down at the baby in her arms in amazement. "He's adorable."

"He's small and red." Kenny says, head tilted in fascination. "How don't they mix babies up? They all look the same."

"Bracelets." Tara wiggles Thomas's hand, showing off the bracelet.

"We have this for you." Opie says and Chibs produces a tiny, dark blue hat. Identical to Abel's, the reaper on the forehead. Smiling back watery tears, Tara gently tugs it on Thomas. He continues sleeping, oblivious to the attention.

"Thank you." Tara manages and bends down to kiss the reaper.

* * *

 _His name_

Tara paces the house impatiently, her hand resting on her belly. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that he needs time, this is prison, he can't just pick up whenever, there's protocol, and if the guards are in a bad mood today, they might not even let him pick up the phone at all…

"Hello?"

"Jax." She says quickly and all the tension washes out of her. "Hey, hey baby."

"Hi babe." He sounds good, not tired like last time. He's hiding his worry from her, she can tell, but she's not going to spoil today and it's good news by asking why he fears for his life today. "How's Abel?"

"Good." Tara smiles at her son, who's playing with blocks, sticking them into his mouth. "He's been playing with Piper, Kenny, and Ellie all morning, haven't you little man?"

"Yeah, Opie says he's been pretty good." Jax lets a little bit of happiness seep into his tone. "And the other baby?"

"Just fine." Tara says happily, feeling her still small bump. "We had a checkup yesterday."

"What'd they say?" Jax is instantly on high alert. Tara feels the tears coming but she holds them back. Not yet.

"Oh good. I'm carrying pretty low, but all my fluids are looking good. I need to get someone vitamin D so I think I'm going…" She prattles on about meaningless pregnancy things until she gets to her bomb. "Oh, and they told me the sex."

"They did?" Jax demands, excitement growing. Tara can imagine him on the other side of the phone, clutching the cord, pressing it to his ear, beaming. "You better tell me Tara Grace."

"I don't know." The tears are almost unavoidable now, so she plays her card. "Are you ok with having two little boys?" There's a stunned silence.

"I'm going to have another son?" Jax asks horsely, voice breaking. Tara nods, tears streaming down her face before remembering he can't see her.

"Yes, Jax, yes, we're having a boy!"

"A boy!" He yells and she wonders if Clay or Piney is nearby, if they're jumping up and down, celebrating with him.

"Jax, Jax," She tries to calm him down as she hears the warning chime that their call is halfway done. "Jax, I wanted to talk to you about a name."

"A name." Jax sounds dazed, as if he has never comprehended such a thing.

"I have one in mind." Tara admits slowly, suddenly unsure if she's allowed to express something so personal.

"Ok." Jax agrees easily, still sounding like he's been clubbed over the head.

"Thomas." It spills off her lips quickly, before she can take it back. "Thomas Cole."

"Tara, it's perfect." Jax breathes and the tears spring up, renewed. "Where'd the Cole come from, your father's name was Charles."

"I'm not naming him after that bastard." Tara says, chuckling despite her tears. "It's after Donna. Her middle name was Nicole. I just… I talked to Opie. I wanted to honor her, somehow."

"That makes it even better." Jax sounds like he might be crying, or at least desperately fighting it. "Abel and Thomas. My boys."

"Our boys." Tara kneels next to Abel. "I love you. Talk to him till it cuts off. I'll call you when you get a phone again." She holds the phone to Abel's ear.

"Hi buddy." She can still hear Jax's voice and she swipes at the tears on her cheeks. "Hi? How are you little man? Did you have fun at Uncle Opie's? I miss you little guy. Daddy misses you."

When the call finally cuts off, she stands back up and takes a couple shaky breaths, wondering if her hormones will ever even out. She puts the phone on the counter and smiles at Abel, as he plays with a stuffed train.

"Thomas Cole." She says the name aloud again, testing out how it feels in her mouth. "Thomas Cole Teller." A tribute to the siblings they lost- the brother that Jax loved and the girl that took Tara in as a sister. "That's you, baby." She whispers to her belly. "My Thomas."

* * *

 _Abel's scar in the future_

"Hey." Josie walks into the kitchen, tossing her backpack on a chair. Willow just bobs her head in acknowledgement of her roommate's return, focused on her paper. "Where's Marisol?"

"Work." Willow says, finally sighing and giving up, looking away from her laptop. "And Mel is at her boyfriends, big surprise."

"Speaking of boyfriends." Josie has a twinkle in her eye and Willow sighs, knowing whatever is coming next is going to make her sigh. "Is yours coming this weekend?"

"He is." Willow says slowly. "I put it in the group message though, you guys all said it was ok."

"Oh it is." Josie says quickly. "I just have one request, about Abel being shirtless."

"I'll tell him to stop, but he doesn't always listen." Willow warns her and Josie shakes her head.

"No, can you make sure he has it off… More?" She requests and Willow rolls her eyes, throwing a pen at her.

"Really?" She demands and Josie laughs, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine.

"He's just so attractive Wills, I am so jealous."

"He has a younger brother our age." Willow says in amusement.

"Does he drive a motorcycle too?" Josie asks hopefully.

"Nope, he goes to college in NorCal and plays lacrosse there." She tells her and Josie sips her glass thoughtfully.

"If he's got abs like his brother, I suppose I could make do." She sighs and grabs a spoon and the tub of ice cream. "God, applying to med schools sucks."

"Hear hear for grad schools." Willow grumbles, gathering her hair in a mess on the crown of her head and snapping her hair tie around it. "Save some of that ice cream for me, can we watch Pretty Woman instead of doing homework?"

"Is that even a question?"

(-)

Abel walks up the stairs to the apartment, spinning the keys on the keyring, trying to find the little gold one Willow gave him in August, with a kiss and a wink, telling him to stop in whenever. In his other hand is a bouquet of flowers, mostly pinks and oranges. Bright, for his Willow. He unlocks the door, glancing around.

"Hi!" He gets hardly a second of warning before Willow rounds a corner and launches herself at him.

"Uff." He takes a step back as she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck like koala. "Hi Wills."

"Hi. Missed you." She says, face nuzzled in his neck.

"Missed you too." He says, amused and she looks at him, beaming. She lets him go, gasping at the flowers.

"You shouldn't have." She says, smiling and kissing him. After a second, the kiss deepens and Abel puts his hand on her waist, drawing her a little closer. Willow's hands are pulling at his jeans and his kutte. He leans back, just an inch of space.

"Wills, the flowers-" She takes them from him and tosses them onto the couch, kissing him again and pulling him by his belt loops to the bedroom.

"Why are there flowers on the couch?" Josie calls, an hour later, shutting the door loudly.

"Sorry!" Willow yells through her shut door, giggling. Abel, naked and reclining on the bed, turns and grins at her.

"Well, at least you guys made it to the bedroom this time." Josie sounds resigned. "I'll put them in water."

"Thanks!" Willow kisses Abel again and presses their foreheads together. "C'mon, we should get up."

"How about… Not?" He suggests, gently running his hands over her hips. He gets the satisfaction of seeing goosebumps rise before she kisses his nose and squirms out of bed, pulling on a loose tank top and shorts.

"But I'm hungry." She informs him and he makes a face.

"Well then I suppose we better feed you before you get all cranky." He pulls on shorts and follows her out into the living room, trying to tame his hair.

"Oh, hi Abel." Josie says, too cheerily, her eyes lingering on his shirtless torso.

"Hi Jos." He says, amused.

"Josie likes you with your shirt off." Willow informs him, grabbing her laptop.

"Jealous?" He asks her teasingly.

"Nah, she wants Tommy's number." Willow says calmly, looking up delivery Chinese.

"Oh?" Abel raises an eyebrow. "You wanna date my little brother?"

"Does he do stuff you know, like you?" Josie gestures wildly with one hand and Willow snorts.

"Stuff?" Abel tilts his head, looking for clarification.

"You know, like biker stuff." Josie is floundering and Willow pauses ordering food to look at her roommate, wondering where this is gonna go. "Like, get stabbed."

"What?" Abel and Willow both exclaim, startled.

"I don't know, Willow said you got stabbed!" Josie says, wide eyed. Abel looks at Willow in disbelief and she puts her hands up in defense.

"I do not recall telling her that."

"Right here!" Quickly, as if Willow might attack her for it, Josie pokes the small, white scar on Abel's stomach.

"Oh." Willow says quietly. There's a long, awkward pause. "So do you want moo-shu pork or sweet and sour chicken?"

(-)

Abel nuzzles Willow's hair and she smiles, shutting the TV off and reaching down to plug in the christmas lights. They light up overhead, tangled in the canopy above her bed, casting them in a soft glow. She smiles and sets her chin on his chest, smiling at him.

"Fridays are always better when you're here." She mummers and he grins, rubbing her back.

"Fridays are better when I'm falling in love." He mummers back and she beams, hiding her face in his chest. "Even if you did tell your roommates I've been stabbed."

"You have been stabbed." Willow says dryly and Abel glances at his thigh, where his boxers don't quite reach the puckered scar above his knee.

"Once." He corrects and she rolls her eyes.

"I figured the whole you being stabbed was a little less personal than me explaining about your moms." Willow gently runs her fingers over the scar. "That's not my story to tell."

"I don't mind people knowing." Abel says quietly and Willow looks up at him. "It's my story you know? The woman that loved me from the second I was born and the mom that learned to love me a little later."

"That's one way to put it." Willow is quiet, thinking, fingers still resting on the scar.

"It drew me back to this life." Abel tells her and she looks at him, wide eyed. "I needed to know Tara and my dad and everything SAMCRO. This was my reminder."

"I'm so glad it did." She bends down and kisses the scar before Abel pulls her up to his face.

"Me too." He whispers and she smiles as she kisses him.

* * *

 _Piney walking Lyla and Donna down the aisle_

"Hey, Piney." Donna stands in the door to the kitchen, nervously playing with the fraying edge of her shirt.

"Yeah?" He's distracted trying to find his stash of whiskey- Opie must've moved it again. He loves that kid but if he keeps moving his booze…

"I have a question." Donna sounds worried, which is so unlike her, so he turns to his future daughter-in-law and raises an eyebrow. "So, um, you know, my dad left when I was in high school and well he never came back and he called me once, when mom moved and sold the house, but I mean, he's not like a part of my life at all and well, I don't know if it's weird, but I don't really want him there, which is kind of a probably, you know, because guys usually are there when their daughter's get married and I guess mine won't be, which I'm so ok with, because he's a total jackass anyways and—"

"Donna." He cuts her off, not unkindly and she bobs her head and takes a deep breath.

"Will you walk me down the aisle?" She blurts out.

"What?" He asked, stunned. She grins sheepishly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"Opie said you'd react like that." She tells him, too amused to be scared now. "I need a guy to walk me down the aisle and since there's a snowball's chance in hell that my dad will, I wanted you to."

"Donna, I'm not… I can't…" He stammers and she takes a small step backwards, some worry creeping back into her eyes.

"If you don't want to." She says, sounding small and hurt.

"Donna, no." He says hastily. "But are you sure that you want this walking you doing the aisle?" He gestures to himself and Donna breaks out in a sunny smile again, laughing.

"Yes, I'm beyond sure. You've been there for me and Op like no one has." She claps his hands, beaming. He takes a second to appreciate how young and pretty she is, eyes sparkling and skin unlined from worry. She's just a child to him, just like his son. "You're more my dad than he ever was. So of course I want it to be you."

"Sure." He agrees dumbly and Donna throws her hands up in relief, laughing and chattering on about the wedding. He doesn't hear any of it, he's too thinking that she's sunshine and light, too bright for them all.

(-)

"Hey, Piney?" Lyla stands in that same doorway, but this time he's sitting at the kitchen table, eating leftover roast. Lyla has Piper on her hip. He's tenderly nursing a red finger, tear tracks still evident on his face. So that's where the source of crying had came from.

"Yeah?" He takes another bite of roast- it's a little dry. He should've gone out to eat with Lyla and the kids, but he hadn't wanted to leave the house.

"Question for you." Lyla is quiet, subdued, which is odd. Usually she's laughing, playing silly games with the kids, teasing them. He can hear the TV in the background, some mindless TV show where the character has a horrible laugh. So that's where Ken and Ellie are.

"Yeah?" He repeats, picking out a potato to eat.

"Will you walk me down the aisle?" Startled, he nearly drops the fork. Lyla is looking at Piper, wiping his cheeks, rather than at Piney. "My dad, he's gone. And I'd like it if it was you."

"Lyla." He says, setting his fork down and sighing. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." Piper squirms out of her arms and runs to the living room, hurts forgotten. Lyla finally looks at him and he sees just how nervous she is. "Opie and I agreed, we'd rather have you do it than anyone else."

"I don't know what to say." He says honestly, his mind swimming with things from the past- Donna wore a long white dress and a veil with lace on the edges. She'd been squirming with nerves, laughing and pacing.

"Well, you can have time to think about it if you need it." Lyla's fighting to sound dismissive. "I'll take the kids home."

"Lyla." He grunts, standing up from the table. His oxygen gets tangled and he sorts it out while she watches, unsure. "If this is what you want, really want, I would be honored. An old man like me standing next to a pretty girl like you?"

"It'll make me look better." Lyla jokes and she's got tears in her eyes. She moves to hug him tightly. "Thank you, you don't know how much this means to me."

"Glad to help." He says and now Lyla's smiling, detailed her plans for the wedding and he's wondering how such sunshine and brightness like her can stand being around the darkness that is him.

 **AN:** Man, ok, season 4! Here we go! Back in the saddle- back on the Harley. Lots of Thomas but I just love him, some Willow/Abel (sorry if you haven't read First Son, Cursed Son but if I'm picturing grown up Abel, I can't help that Willow's there!) and some Lyla/Donna/Piney musings. Disclaimer, I couldn't find Donna's middle name, I gave her one of my own, but if you know the canon one, drop me a review as a correction! (or leave me a review anyways.)


	41. Season 4- Booster

Episode 2: Booster

 _Tara knows everything/Lyla knows nothing_

Tara can't help that she needs to know. It comes from years of being a student, then a med student, then a doctor. Choices can only be made with all the information. What procedures they're going to perform, what techniques they're going to use, it can only be decided when she knows complete patient history, her team's abilities, her own abilities, and more. She needs to know.

That's why she demands Jax tells her everything. The good. The bad. The scary. The horrible. The god awful, disgusting, painful things that make her stay up at night, unable to sleep, wondering how she can be in the same bed as a murderer, how Jax can sleep so soundly knowing who he is.

But she has to know. She needs the information, needs to compile it so her rational brain can make lists and sort things, compartmentalize the loving father and now her fiancé from the man that goes to prison, gets stabbed, and murders men for it.

She knows everything and it's reassuring to her that way. It allows her to make decisions. To keep Thomas close to her that day, to tell Abel that she loves him, to stay in Charming, to not get in a car and drive until she sees the lights of a town that doesn't know who the Sons even are.

Maybe one day that will change. Maybe one day Jax will tell her something that forces the cons to outweigh the pros, to make things too awful that she can't find a reason to stay. But at least then she knows. She will have a reason for running this time and she won't ever be tempted to come back.

It's not like high school and that's what she likes best. She's not in the dark, wondering where he is, why he won't call, when he's coming back, if he's coming back. She knows and she listens, she attempts to understand and accept the club. When she left last time, it was because she wanted Jax to pick- her or the club. She never envisioned a world where he had both.

So Tara always knows and Jax always tells her. That's how they make this work.

(-)

Lyla doesn't know anything. She's ok with that. She knows Op, she knows how he is, knows who he is. She knows that this is his way of protecting her, keeping her out of the club. She knows that he is terrified to let anything happen to her, especially when something so awful happened to Donna. So she accepts that he doesn't tell her.

It makes it easier for her too. Easier to pretend that they're normal. That they're happy and it's all good. That he loves her, the kids, their life, their marriage. She can stick her head in the sand and drown on the bad that happens, because he had nothing to do with any of it.

It's easier not to know. To not ask. To question where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. If she doesn't ask, she doesn't need to know that their wedding was a sham, an excuse for murder. She can maintain the illusion that Opie is happy, that things are normal, they're just another family in Charming.

She knows that's far from the truth. She's slightly oblivious to what happens on a day to day, but she washed his jeans and sees the bloodstains. She showers with him and sees the scrapes, the bruises, the scars. She does their bills and sees the fluctuating amounts of cash each month- sometimes a lot, sometimes hardly anything at all.

But she forgets it all, shoves it to the back of her mind and makes supper, smiling when he comes in and mutters about 'club shit' even though she can clearly see his knuckles are split and bleeding. She wishes he would tell her sometimes, to let her in and fully trust her, but she's not sure that wouldn't shatter everything.

So she carries on and attempts to be the perfect wife and mother, dropping the kids off at school and going to shoot scenes so at least she knows that groceries will be covered this month. She lets Opie do whatever he needs to do and then kisses him goodnight.

So Lyla never knows and Opie never tells her. That's how they make this work.

* * *

 _Jax's aversion to drugs_

He's sitting on the floor, looking for his blue truck. Where did it go? It was just here a second ago. There's his yellow truck, his green tractor, his red car, all three of his motorcycles, but no blue truck. He needs the blue truck, that's how he's gonna transport his motorcycle to the racetrack in the kitchen.

"I cannot believe we're having this discussion again." His father's sharp voice makes him pause in his search and look towards the table. His father sits there with his uncles Piney, Clay, and Lenny. He spots the blue truck under a chair a couple spaces down from Clay and carefully inches closer.

"I thought we ended this in church." Piney sounds angry too, so Jax pretends to be driving a car instead of trying to get his truck. Mommy always says to not distract them when they're talking.

"I'm not trying to bring it back up." Clay insists and Jax sits behind a chair, relatively sheltered from view, quiet. "I'm just saying, just because the measure didn't pass today doesn't mean we shouldn't talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about." His father sounds really mad, even more mad than the time Jax has thrown a ball and hit a window. "SAMCRO doesn't deal drugs. SAMCRO will never deal drugs." He looks down and spots Jax, straining to reach the blue truck without making a sound. "You think Jax should grow up around drugs?"

"I'm not saying that." Clay reaches down, retrieving the truck and handing it to Jax with a smile. "It's a way to make money."

"Jax, come here." John beckons him to his side and Jax, clutching the truck, walks over. "No son of mine will ever have anything to do with drugs." He says firmly.

(-)

"What's wrong with Lowell?" Jax mutters to Opie, who glances over at the mechanic. The two of them are cleaning bikes, carefully wiping down the shiny pipes with rags. It's their favorite after school activity, if they're not at the skatepark.

"I don't know." He says quietly. The man is scratching at his face, nervously pacing, muttering to himself.

"That's not normal." Jax observes, the bikes forgotten.

"Maybe we should go get your dad?" Opie suggests and Jax glances at the clubhouse, hesitating.

"He doesn't exactly like being disturbed." He reminds Opie. Opie gestures to Lowell, who's now alternating between rubbing his face vigorously and scratching his arms before storming back inside the garage.

"Ok." Jax admits his point and they scramble up, tossing the rags aside and rushing inside. They blink, trying to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim, hazy clubhouse. "Dad." Jax says loudly. John, overseeing the assembly of weapons on the bar top, turns and glances at him.

"What? If you're already done cleaning the bikes, I'm guessing there's still streaks." He teases, an easy smile on his face.

"No, it's not that." Jax exchanges a glance with Opie. "It's Lowell."

"What, is something wrong in the garage?" John asks, his forehead creasing slightly in worry.

"He's… Acting weird." Opie supplies and John looks between the two boys before gesturing to Piney to follow him outside. Lowell has progressed to yelling now, hitting the tool box loudly.

"Stay outside." John orders sharply and Jax and Opie obediently step back, still straining to watch what's happening. There's yelling, loud banging, and eventually a crow eater comes out, bringing more men and shuffling the boys inside, where they can't see or hear anything.

"Jackson!" Gemma storms into the club, looking around for him.

"Mom?" He frowns slightly, standing. "What are you doing here?"

"We're going home." She orders, already gathering up his backpack and homework. "You too Opie, you guys can have a sleepover."

"What's going on? You never let Opie stay on a school night." Jax narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"Get in the car Jackson." Gemma orders. Jax knows not to mess with his mother when she uses this tone, so he and Opie scramble to follow after her.

"Whoa." Both of them skid to a stop when they leave the clubhouse.

"Car." Gemma says tersely but they're not paying attention to her anymore. Two police cars, with Unser standing with his arms folded in front of one, are parked in front of the garage. An ambulance, lights still going is parked behind them.

"Mom, what's going on?" Jax asks and Gemma shoots him a look so deadly he clams up and tugs on Opie's arm to guide him to the car. Tommy, sitting in his carseat, beams at the two of them.

"Hi Jax!" He cries when Jax climbs in.

"Hi Tommy." Jax ruffles his little brother's hair before Gemma squeals out of the parking lot. Tommy is babbling about his day, telling Jax about his new toy, but both boys are quiet, trying to figure out what's going on.

"Jax." Gemma says finally, quiet. "Opie. What you say today was a good man caught in bad things. That wasn't the normal Lowell, ok? That wasn't him, that was drugs."

"I hate drugs." Jax mutters.

(-)

"It'll be fun." Jax promises and Tara gives him a skeptically look.

"I don't have anything cute in my closet." She tries to reason.

"Anything you put on is cute." Jax tries to reason, giving her a sly smile.

"And yet you seem to like me best naked." Tara says thoughtfully and Jax doesn't bother to deny it, grinning.

"Please come. It'll be fun." He promises and after a moment she sighs, relenting, pulling her closet open and evaluating her outfits with a critical eye.

"I will not go happily." She warns and he beams.

"So you're coming?"

"Which shirt?" She grumbles.

Jax leads her down the alley, Tara carefully stepping around puddles. She's got the look in her eye, the one she usually gives him right before she tells him either he takes her home or she'll start walking. He knows he's got maybe 30 minutes to talk to the men inside before he'll deal with a fight.

"Stay here ok?" He offers instantly, when Tara glances inside the propped open back door and rolls her eyes mightily. "You don't have to come inside. I can handle it."

"Fine." Tara leans against the wall and folds her arms, a cold glint in her eyes. Jax kisses her head and darts inside, looking for the Irishman Clay asked him to talk to.

"Pleasure doing business with you, always look forward to it." He says jovially, 17 minutes later, shaking the man's hand and setting his empty shot glass aside. He stumbles back through the bar, wondering if it might be better to let Tara drive when he hears her.

"Stop, I'm not kidding." He shoves the remaining people in the bar between him and the exit out of the way. Tara is halfway down the dark alley, a group of guys clustered around her.

"Tara!" He yells, quickening his pace. A man glances at him and he knows, from years of seeing it, exactly how high that man is. He yanks him away from Tara, stepping in front of her instantly.

"Who's this?" The guy sneers and Jax doesn't give him more than a moment before he throws the first punch, sending the guy reeling back. He shoves Tara out of the way before the other addict can touch her, kneeing him in stomach before grabbing the back of his shirt and wrestling him to the ground.

"Jax!" Tara is yelling but he doesn't stop until every man in groaning on the ground, clutching various broken bones.

"Are you ok?" He demands, grabbing her shoulders and looking at her imploringly.

"I'm fine, Jesus Jax." She seems shaken but mostly by the fact that he's covered in blood that isn't his.

"C'mon." He takes her hand and spits on a man as they step over him. "God, I hate drug addicts."

(-)

"Do you think it's wrong I want to kill my wife?" Jax says aloud and Opie can't help but snort. They're sitting in Abel's hospital room, watching as he sleeps, his chest rising and falling in a weak but steady rhythm.

"Can't say I blame you." Opie pats his shoulder as Jax sighs heavily.

"It's just… How can anyone… How could she… When she knew about him? How could she?"

"She's an addict. You know how they are." Opie says calmly and Jax gets up to pace the room, practically growling in agitation.

"But she knew. She knew she was pregnant. She had to know what it was going to do to him. And she couldn't even wait 9 quick months for him to be born! She could've OD'ed anytime afterwards but why couldn't she wait until he was here?" He demands. "Why couldn't she wait?"

"Jax, she's an addict."

"That's not an excuse!"

"And you not being there, what's your excuse?" Obie's words stop Jax in his tracks and he glances at his friend, fury in his eyes. Then he blinks and it's gone.

"She's an adult. I'm not a babysitter." He says halfheartedly and Opie just stares flatly at him. "I have to blame her. I have to."

"Fine, but at least admit some part of it rests on your shoulders." Opie says steadily and Jax doesn't say anything but he goes to stand over Abel, looking down at his son.

"You know, when I was a kid, I remember how against drugs my old man was. I remember he said he'd keep it out of Charming because he didn't want me growing up around it." For a second, despair crosses his face. "What would he think if he knew his first grandchild was born a drug addict?"

"He'd think he's a fighter." Opie joins Jax and they both look down at the sleeping baby, covered in his tubes. "That his son was going to make things right. That'd he'd understand why it's so important to make sure that drugs never come into Charming."

"I just, I can't believe it." Jax rests his forehead against the plastic casing. "I just wait him healthy. I would give anything for that."

"And that's what makes you such a great dad already." Opie pats his back bracingly. "That you want to be better."

"He'll never know drugs again." Jax says fiercely. "I will not let drugs into Charming. Not around my son. Never again."

* * *

 _"You wanted the gavel your whole life." (why he wants out)_

He remembers being young and playing with Tommy underneath the table in the clubhouse, as the adults talked above them, drinking and laughing. He remembers being young and sitting on his father's lap. He remembers the men that came in and out of his life. He remembers their weddings. He remembers their funerals.

This is his life. The good, the bad, the ups and downs. All his. He has never known a moment without the club. When he was little, all he wanted was to prospect. Then when he was a prospect, he wanted a patch. He would've been content to stayed patched, but then Piney's health, never good, took a turn for the worse. He refused to hand the VP patch to anyone but Jax.

So then he was VP and it was implied but never stated outright that Jax would take the gavel one day. It was just assumed that he would follow along his fathers' footsteps, both JT and Clay's. Run the club, make the hard calls, lead SAMCRO. They all think that he's never wanted anything else.

But he has.

When his father died, he wanted to run far away from Charming, California. He wanted to live in the mountains, buried in snow, and not have any of the expectations that his mother placed on him. He didn't want any of it. He didn't want to face anyone.

But then he adjusted to it and the club drew him back. They didn't possibly think he could want anything other than the club, so he went with that assumption and he soon forgot about anything that wasn't SAMCRO.

But then he met Tara.

It wasn't a problem at first. She was just a girl and he wasn't prospecting or patched in. It was when he grew to love her and she grew to hate the club that things began to shift. She would talk about college, a little apartment in a big city, her hopes and dreams. Then he realized SAMCRO had no part of being in her plans.

He began to prospect, a tentative truce between him and Tara that maybe, just maybe, this could work. She'd go to school, he'd stay here, and they would make it work. But it was too easily shattered when he came home with blood on his hands and stories he wouldn't tell.

Tara was almost desperate at the end. Begged him not to. Talked about them falling asleep together, him working, her studying. She claimed they could do it. They could be happy. He could be more. And he almost believed her. But then he made his choice when she made her's and he never told anyone but Opie that for a moment there, he wanted something else.

But then he had Abel.

Not by choice. But maybe the universe knew that Jax needed a purpose, a sign, something. To put him back on the right path. To do the right thing. Once he had his son, things changed. He imagined putting Abel to bed and not worrying about the next morning. He wondered what it would be like to not have to travel to Ireland to get his firstborn back.

He had Thomas, he had Tara, he had a whole family for the first time since Tommy had died. He wanted them, he wanted their safety, he wanted stability and peace. He doesn't wanted anymore prison sentences away from his sons, he doesn't want death and destruction to follow them like it follows him, he just wants them, safe and whole.

He looks at the gavel, the thing that he has supposedly been working for his entire life, and somehow he can't muster up a good reason to want it anymore.

* * *

 _The money to each of them_

As Jax pulls the stacks of cash from the brown paper bag, each man around the table stares at it in awe and a little bit of confusion, trying to comprehend the large amount of money that they're about to have, if they push their morals aside and run these drugs.

For Clay, it's retirement. It's no more aching hands and needles pushing medicine into his veins anymore. It's him and Gemma, sleeping in, reading the paper as she makes breakfast, slow and content. It's never having to worry, it's never having to wonder how he's ever going to get by, it's providing for his wife. Money is what makes a man strong and Clay will take all of it if he needs to.

For Jax, it's an out. It's a nest egg to take with him and Tara, to get them as far away as he can from the hell of Charming. It's gas, a plane ticket, rent, food, new identities if that's why they need. Anything. It's freedom, even if it's ripping his heart out. He hates this money, how dirty it makes him feel, how he's betraying his values for this. But if this is what it takes to get Abel and Thomas to some place where they will never understand fear again, he'll do it.

For Tig, it's strippers. Lots and lots of hookers. Big ones, little ones, dark, light, tall, short, whatever the hell he wants. All the flavors. And drugs. Oh, so many drugs. Different kinds, different highs, different everything. All the drugs he could ever want. Hell, with that kind of cash, he could even afford to share with the strippers. If he's in the giving type mood. He could go on a bender for a week straight. Drugs and girls. And maybe an upgrade to his bike.

For Bobby, it's relief. Relief from Precious, constantly breathing down his neck, reminding him that he's got a kid to take care of, provide for, help. He could send her a lump sum, tell her to screw herself, and that if he never gets to see his kid, he shouldn't have to deal with it. He could finish paying off his house, he could take a little vacation, he could buy a car that doesn't have a rusted out hole in the bottom. It would be a relief to not worry about money, tally sums and bottom lines, for just one day.

For Piney, it's the end. The end of him, the end of John's SAMCRO, the end of it all. They had made a promise, years ago, that there were lines and some they would never cross. But here they are, John gone, Piney weak and fading fast, Clay at the head of the table. Too much has changed and he's not sure how he's going to be able to say no, stay away from this, it's not what we do. So he clamps his mouth shut and wonders if he left SAMCRO, would it even hurt?

For Chibs, it's a chance. He's already doing the math in his head- is it enough for a plane ticket home for a nice long stay? Maybe he puts some of it away for Kerrianne's wedding. Or maybe it's a ticket to bring her here, if she's on holiday. Maybe a vacation? Meet the two of them in London. Or Mexico. Fiona always loved warm weather. A family vacation, they haven't done such a thing since Kerrianne was a baby. He could buy them a home in Ireland, maybe one he could return to in time. Pay for school or new clothes or something. Anything. Whatever his girls want, he'll get.

For Opie, it's stability. He could pay off the house, the truck, everything. Lyla would never have to worry about working. She could stay at home, take care of the kids, and he would provide, just like a man is suppose to do. Food on the table, new shoes that aren't from Walmart for the kids, maybe a trip to Disney or the beach for a weekend. No more worrying about defaulting on loans or credit card bills, wondering if the truck will get repo'ed or the house will get foreclosed. For once, he wouldn't worry about taking his family out to eat or if his wife makes more than him by shaking her ass. He'd finally be able to provide for his family.

For Juice, it's money. A new x-box. A new flatscreen tv. A nice new leather couch. A hell of a lot of booze. The latest i-Phone. A new laptop. Some jeans. A new bike, with all customized parts. Condoms. Pizza. A hot tub would be sweet. He could get some recording equipment. Go to a couple concerts. Maybe he should buy a dog…

* * *

 _"She'd never be able to take care of three kids by herself."_

It's 6 am and Lyla is already up. She's cursing herself out for not doing this earlier but editing had taken forever last night and once she'd gotten home, she'd just wanted to sleep. So not her best choice, but at least she got more than 6 hours of sleep last night. So it's an honest trade-off for having to make sandwiches for lunches.

Ken doesn't like ham, so he gets turkey. Ellie has decided she's on a diet, despite Lyla telling her every day that she doesn't need one, so she grudgingly switches a pudding cup for an apple and sticks a note in there about how beautiful she is. Piper gets hot Cheetos, not the normal kind. She packs them and sets the bags on the counter by the door. Then she opens the fridge.

Pancakes for breakfast, warm up the leftover muffins from yesterday, and set out sugar-free cereal for Ellie. She doesn't have much time before the Ellie will get in the shower, but at least it takes a solid half hour to rouse the boys from anything. As she finishes mixing the batter and pouring one onto the warm pan, she hears the water begin.

"Boys, get up!" She yells downstairs to the darkness. It's only the first of 15 or so calls, so she doesn't miss a beat when there's not a peep from their rooms. She grabs the butter and milk, setting it on the table. "Boys, not kidding, get up!"

"We're out of shampoo!" Ellie yells before the door to her room slams. Lyla adds it to the growing list she has before setting the stack on pancakes on the table.

"Boys, at least get up for breakfast." She yells and then there's a muffled moan and a light flicks on. She smiles to herself and then puts a piece of toast in the toaster for herself.

"And we could really use some toothpaste." Ellie declares, walking into the kitchen and grabs a bowl.

"Add that to the list too then." Lyla says easily. Seconds later, Piper and Kenny shuffle up, bleary eyed and yawning. They dig into the pancakes without a word.

"I think I'm gonna go home with Savannah after school." Ellie announces. "We're working on an English project together."

"Please drop your brothers off at home then, I'll be in the studio late again." Lyla informs her and Ellie nods. "I'll send someone over to check on you and bring you supper."

"We're not babies." Piper sulks at the same time as Kenny asks,

"Can we get pizza?"

"Sure, you can get pizza. And I know you're not a baby Pip but you and Ken are sure as hell not old enough to be trusted not to burn the place down if left unattended." She says stoutly. "Now do you have your homework all finished or do I need to run through a review with you?"

At 7:47, the kids are rushing out of the house, grabbing backpacks and lunches, yelling their 'Love you!'s over their shoulders while Ellie honks loudly. She cleans up the kitchen, showers, changes, and gathers her things for the day. Then she hops in the car and heads to work.

At promptly 8:45, she has a coffee in hand, sitting in her director's chair, watching with a critical eye as a young girl stands in front of her, gently tugging at her outfit and glancing at Lyla for approval.

"What do you think?" Her assistant, a tall redhead who's renamed herself Athena, asks cautiously.

"I mean, I get what look we're going for." Lyla muses. "But are we really achieving that 'virgin girl found wandering in the woods' look? Can she be a little bit more… Woody?"

"I can appreciate the pun." Athena's eyes sparkle in amusement. "Yes, I'll put more flowers in her hair. Will that help?"

"Yes." Lyla approves. "And ask around the girls who's free tonight. Tell them there's $20 and a slice of pizza for whoever checks on the boys when we're done with a shoot."

"Got it!" Athena calls, already hurrying away. Lyla moves to the next shoot, observing everything at Red Woody with a smile or advice, instructing everyone.

At 12:53, it's time for a salad and a call from the school- Ken's lunch account is running low again. She makes a note to add money to it and tell him to stop buying brownies after he eats- if he's still hungry, she'll put more in his lunch. At 2:31, a shoot gets interrupted when an overhead light crashes down. She helps clean it up and calls the insurance to bicker over getting a new one. At 4:29, she takes her one cigarette break of the day and snacks on almonds, calling the boys to make sure they're home safe and then texting Ellie to see if she actually is doing homework or has snuck off to see a boy. At 5:17, she takes her light supper and sends the girls home, handing Bailie money and thanking her. She makes her way to the editing bay and puts headphones on, thinking about Piper's upcoming science project. At 8:56, she finally wraps up and makes her way home. She unlocks the door and heads downstairs first.

"Homework done?" She mummers. The boys, busy playing video games, nod without looking away. "Showered? Backpacks packed?" More nods. "How was pizza?"

"Good." They both chorus.

"Good. And Ken, I got another call from school today about your lunch account, enough with the brownies. I'll make some if you want them in your lunch." She chides.

"The school's have sprinkles." He informs her and she fights back an urge to roll her eyes.

"I'll make some with sprinkles." She promises. "Now give me a kiss goodnight." They both kiss her cheek and she gives them the 10-minute video game warning before going back upstairs. "Hey you." She pauses in Ellie's doorway. Ellie is sprawled out on her bed, intently reading a history book.

"Hi." Looking grateful for the distraction, Ellie sets it aside and moves over. "How was your day?"

"Good." Lyla sits and Ellie leans against her naturally. "How was yours? How was school and Savannah?"

"Well, it was good, but today during bio-" Ellie launches into a detailed description of her day and Lyla smiles, content to listen. At 10:27, she yells at the boys to go to sleep, shuts Ellie's door, and climbs into her own bed. She glances at the photo on her bedside table- her and a tall man, bearded and serious. A small, sad smile crosses her own face and she whispers a little update to him about their children, before she tells him that she loves him and goodnight.

 **AN:** Maybe I love Lyla. Just a little bit. And a lot of Jax! Please tell me your thoughts, I would love to get reviews from new people! (Not that I don't love everyone who reviews consistently! Seriously, I just sit here and wait for reviews cause I love them so much.) Thanks for reading!


	42. Season 4- Dorylus

Episode 3: Dorylus

 _Tara and Clay in HS_

"Jax?" Tara calls uncertainly, walking into the house slowly. She's well aware of Gemma distaste for her, so she''s always sure to tread carefully in Jax's house, even when Gemma is gone. "Jax?"

"Looking for someone?"

"Holy shi-" Tara spins around, having not seen the man reclining in the chair in the corner. He's sipping on a mug of coffee, still steaming. Heart racing, Tara forces a weak smile. "Clay. Didn't see you there."

"I got that from the jumping and surprise." He smiles and though it's meant to appear kind, it makes Tara shiver.

"Sorry, I startle easy." She manages a little more sure smile now, her heartbeat settling down somewhat. "Where's Jax?"

"He's out with Opie." Clay explains and Tara glances at the clock. 8:03.

"Wow, that's impressive. I figured I'd have to pull him out of bed. I gotta learn Opie's secret." She attempts to joke and Clay chortles, taking a sip of coffee.

"I can tell you the secret." He advises her, then leans forward. "When I say jump, he says how high."

"Oh, um, I, well," Tara stammers, trying to resist taking a step backwards. "I had no idea."

"Yeah." He takes another sip, looking contemplative. "I think it's good for him. A little grunt work. Reminds him to be humble. He's just like the rest of the prospects, even if he's the prince." Tara cringes at the nickname she's grown to hate.

"He's out doing… Club stuff?" Tara asks quietly, before she can help herself. Clay is quiet for a long time, drinking his coffee.

"Can I ask you a question?" He deflects and Tara hesitates.

"Sure?"

"You being with Jax, how's that work?"

"Pardon?"

"Tara." He stares into her eyes and she realizes why it's so odd- they are not the color of a summer sky like Jax's and they have none of his warmth. "Don't get me wrong, I like you."

"You do?" She only barely manages to keep a snort from her voice.

"Sure. But you know Jax, he's like my son." There's something in Clay's tone, something smarmy and self righteous that makes dislike swell in Tara's stomach. "I'm proud of him, of the choices he's starting to make, I think they're good ones."

"Ok." Tara folds her arms, fast expecting this is veer into Gemma territory- she is not a smart choice, she is Jax's worst choice, she needs to leave him alone and be done with it.

"I think he made a good decision with you."

"Pardon?" She repeats, stunned.

"I'm not Gemma." Again, his smile is easy going and warm, but something about it feels so wrong and false, Tara just can't put a finger on it. "I really do like the two of you together. I mean, I hear how he talks about you. I think you're a great girl for him."

"Well, thank you." Tara says quietly. "That's nice to hear."

"Yeah, Gemma's just mad cause Jax doesn't listen to just her anymore." He chuckles again and opens the newspaper. Tara gives a halfhearted laugh back then sits at the kitchen table, anxiously waiting for Jax. "So, what are you going go to do today?" He asks, after a couple minutes of silence tick past.

"Ah, we had plans to, um, well," Tara feels foolish now. "Go to the zoo."

"The zoo?" Clay raises an eyebrow and Tara's sure he's picturing Jax oo-ing and ah-ing over baby elephants or something.

"It was my idea." She shuffles her feet, avoiding his gaze.

"It sounds like fun." He comments and Tara glances at him in disbelief, pondering how sincere he can be when Jax walks in, pulling leather gloves off.

"Tara." He says, clearly surprised. "What are you doing here? I thought we weren't leaving till 8:45."

"I figured I'd have to wake you up." She explains quietly. "I didn't know that wasn't the case."

"Oh." He kisses her temple distractedly, while Clay calmly sets the newspaper aside. "No, I'm up."

"How'd it go?" Clay asks nonchalantly and Jax's eyes briefly flicker back to Tara before addressing Clay.

"Fine. No problems."

"Good to hear." Clay smiles genially at them before he takes another sip of his coffee. Jax squeezes Tara's hand and leads her to his bedroom, pulling off his shirt and rummaging through his closet for a clean one.

"What was that?" Tara hisses.

"What was what?" Jax responds casually, running a brush through his hair.

"Me, sitting in the kitchen, talking to Clay like we're old pals." Tara's tone is clipped and her eyes flash with an anger that surprises even herself.

"Would you rather it was my mom?" Jax points out sharply and Tara is quiet for a long moment.

"What were you doing with the club?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Jax!"

"I said don't worry about it." He snaps and she shrinks back, then gets up and crosses the room.

"Then don't bother with our date today. Clearly the club is more important." For added effect, she slams the door shut on the way out. With a groan, Jax collapses on his bed.

"Whoa, where you going?" Clay asks, refilling his cup when Tara storms back through the kitchen.

"Home." The walls shake when she slams the door shut. Smiling to himself, Clay takes a sip of his coffee and wonders if he should call Gemma.

* * *

 _Tara's missing months with Abel_

"Hi little man." Tara coos, reaching down into the crib to pick him up. "Hi sweet baby boy." She picks him up and swings him high overhead.

"Mama!" Abel says happily and Tara can't help that tears spring to her eyes- that was something she'd only heard once before Belfast. He keeps babbling as she prepares breakfast for him, grabbing applesauce. She spoons it to him, pretending to be very engaged in the conversation.

"Oh, shit." The spoon she's holding clatters to the floor as she spins away from Abel towards the sink, where she empties her stomach. After a couple more heaves, the urge passes.

"Mama." Abel calls and she smiles weakly, grabbing a glass from the clean dishes and washing her mouth out.

"I'm sorry sweet boy." She resumes feeding him. "Your sibling seems to want a little bit of attention too. Can you say baby?"

"Dada." He tries and tears spring to her eyes again. She swipes at them, silently cursing her hormones while trying to encourage Abel.

"Yes dada, daddy misses you, oh he misses you. What should we tell him next time he calls?" Tara plays with his feet, tickling and kissing them, making him squeal with happiness. "How about how big you are? How about how sweet you are? How about how happy you are?"

"Bye-bye." He says and she smiles, shaking her head.

"No, no bye-bye today. Mama doesn't have to go to work today, she's going to stay home with you all day." She tells him and a gummy smile breaks out on his face. She kisses him and cleans him up, setting him down in the living room and laying beside him to play.

"Up." He orders and Tara helps him to stand, his fists holding tight to her fingers. Slowly she withdraws them until he's standing on his own. This is nothing new- he mastered this nearly a month after Jax had gone to prison, but this has been the extent of it. Until today.

"What are you doing?" Tara mummers, watching with her arms at the ready should he fall. Instead he watches her and after a couple moments of seemingly contemplating his next move, he takes a couple steps away from her before plopping down on his butt. "Abel!" She cries, scooping him up and holding him close, crying yet again.

"Mama?" He puts his hand on her face, a quizzical look on his little face. She laughs through her tears and kisses him.

"I am so proud of you sweet boy. And daddy would be proud of you too. We'll tell him this on the next call, won't we?" She whispers to him.

(-)

"Mama!" Abel yells and Tara blinks her eyes open, groaning. She checks the time- 4:12 am.

"What is it baby?" She calls back, waddling to his room. He's standing in his crib, looking at her imploringly.

"Want you." He says and she can't help but smile a little, reaching down to pick him up.

"You want to sleep with me?" She asks and he nods, burrowing his head into her neck. She carries him to the bedroom, setting him on Jax's side before climbing under the covers herself. Abel cuddles up next to her.

"Love you." She hears him mummer and she smiles, stroking his hair and kissing his head.

"I love you too." She whispers back and he glances at her.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, daddy loves you." She reassures him. "I know you're wondering where he is Abel and I know you miss him, but please know how much he loves you." He is quiet, moving about restlessly. "Do you want a story before you go to sleep?" She whispers, after a couple minutes of him not settling down.

"Yes." He agrees eagerly and Tara takes him into her arms, smelling the shampoo she uses.

"Once upon a time." She begins. "There was a prince and he had a little kingdom. He rode around on his horse with his best friend, a noble knight. The prince was sad because his father, the king, had died. His mother, the queen, wanted him to find a princess, so the prince rode around on his horse and looked for a princess that was different from all the other princesses. He needed someone to make him smile and one day, he found her."

"Princess?" Abel asks curiously and Tara smiles, nodding.

"The princess wasn't sure how she felt about the prince, but he offered to show her his kingdom. So she rode on the horse with him, all across his kingdom and she saw many things. She saw the prince slay dragons and monsters. She saw him become a hero. And that's when she fell in love with the prince and he fell in love with her." She tells him.

"Love?" Abel repeats.

"Yes, they fell in love and got married and the prince became the king. They had two little princes and they lived happily ever after." She whispers and Abel is quiet, dozing off. Tara watches him sleep, perfectly content to see his little chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm before she herself slips into sleep.

(-)

"I just feel like Abel feels neglected." Tara complains to Lyla, who listens sympathetically. "You know? He went from being an only child with all my attention and now there's a baby in the mix."

"Does he like Thomas?" Lyla asks curiously.

"Oh, yeah." Tara pulls the lasagna from the oven, setting it on the stove to cool. Lyla continues to mix the salad. "He's always giving him kisses and asking about baby brother. But I think he's got some hostility."

"Well, he's learning to share his mother." Lyla reassures her. "As long as he loves his brother, you shouldn't be worried."

"I do though." Tara pauses, glancing into the living room. Abel is coloring quietly while the older kids watch TV. "I just don't want Abel to ever doubt my love for him is as equal as my love for Thomas."

"Does this have anything to do with you not being his real mother?" Lyla asks pointedly.

"Probably." Tara sighs heavily. "He doesn't know that and I hope he never does, but I don't want him to ever feel that way."

"He won't." Lyla wraps an arm around Tara's shoulder and gives her a gentle squeeze. "You're doing an amazing job."

"I never thought two would be so hard." Tara admits, inspecting garlic bread. "The switch from one to two, especially with Abel still in diapers and Jax not being home… I mean Gemma is a force of nature in herself, but some days it's not enough you know?"

"You miss Jax." Lyla rests her head on top of Tara's, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry Tara. He's getting out soon, it'll get better."

"Not soon enough." Tara sneaks another glance at Abel as they set the table. "I don't want Abel to have any memories of his dad being gone in prison but he's getting older now. I don't know how much I can hide from him."

"He's a smart kid." Lyla agrees. "But he's young Tara. I mean, how many memories do you have of being a year and a half old?"

"None." Tara relaxes a little. "But I never had a parent go to jail. I just don't want this to hurt him in any way."

"It'll be fine." Lyla gives her another smile and a moment later Abel runs into the kitchen, brandishing his newest work of art.

"Did you make that for mama?" Tara asks in delight, bending down to be on Abel's level. He nods, smiling. "I love it." Tara gives him a kiss and posts in on the fridge. "Thank you."

"See?" Lyla raises one eyebrow. "He still loves you more than life. You're his mother Tara."

(-)

"Guess what tomorrow is?" Tara asks Abel, who stops bouncing on his bed long enough to glance at her as she finishes changing Thomas.

"What?" He asks and Tara raises an eyebrow.

"Aren't you going to guess?"

"My birthday!" He crows and she laughs, shaking her head.

"No, not your birthday." She says in amusement. "You've got a couple more months until that. Guess where we're going to go."

"Grandma's!" He begins to bounce again and Tara shakes her head again, making Abel stop and think.

"Think of who we miss really, really bad." She hints and he pauses, thinking hard then gasps.

"Daddy!"

"Yes, daddy!" Tara says, beaming at him and Abel grins, jumping around until Tara gestures for him to get down. She buckles Thomas into his carrier while Abel struggles with his shoes. Tara finishes putting them on and combs his hair back with her fingers before buckling him in as well. The car ride is filled with songs from Abel's favorite sing along CD.

"Again!" He cries when the song ends.

"No, no more, we're here." Tara turns the radio down, glancing at the high walls and sighing heavily. Only a couple more months. "We're here, we're going to see Daddy now."

"Yay!" Abel says and Tara helps him out of the car, holding tight to his hand and guiding him inside. From there, it's the search by the guards, making sure there's nothing they're bringing to Jax hidden on the boys. Tara shifts impatiently from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the gates to open. Once they buzz and slide open, they rush inside.

"Hi mama." Jax's voice is a welcome relief to her ears and Abel runs for his father. "Whoa, hi buddy!"

"We missed you." Tara says needlessly and Jax smiles over Abel's head, kissing her. "All of us."

"I missed you guys too." He mummers, setting Abel down and picking up Thomas. "C'mon, sit by me, I wanna hear everything." Tara sits with her small family, reunited for a brief moment, and feels nothing but content as she watches Jax and their boys.

* * *

 _Tara/Jax versus Gemma/John_

They fall in young love. At least, ¾ of them did. Jax was 16 when he fell in love with Tara, really fell in love with her, head over heels kind of love. She was only 14, but somehow that made it better.

They were young, they were unstoppable, and though their dramatics were the stuff of legends, so was their love. There were ups and downs, the highest of highs and then the lowest of lows, sometimes in the course of a day. It was everything expected of two teenagers. And it flamed out in a spectacularly awesome fashion, like everything else Jax and Tara did.

Gemma was young too. Probably too young for a baby, but she never really cared. That was the best way to get John Teller to love her- give him an heir. It's a tale as old as time. But their love set the tone for all romances to come in SAMCRO, passionate, dramatic, and over the top.

But the key difference is the way they fought. Gemma and John would fight bitterly, screaming and throwing things. Jax and Tara would be similar- tears were common. But Gemma and John would hold grudges, bringing up past fights years later. Jax and Tara would let it go, a blank slate for all the more fights to come.

Jax and Tara's love is true love, that much is clear. Their desperate need is for each other, not for the power that Gemma and John thrived off of. It was terrifying for Gemma to realize that her son, the one thing that tied her whole world together and gave her all her power, would walk away for a little girl. It reminds her that John left her for someone far more innocent, far sweeter, far more… Tara-like. Like son, like father?

The devotion is absolute, though Gemma's is conditional. Keep the power, keep her love. Tara will always love Jax, no matter what. That is perhaps their key difference- how they love their men. Gemma would never dream of leaving John at the height of his power, but Tara had come back for Jax at his lowest.

They share other things, like the dislike of their families. Nate and Rose would never agree to let their daughter marry a biker king and Gemma would have never agreed to let Jax leave with a wanna-be doctor. They share fierce loyal streak, a sense of righteousness in their actions, and protective instincts for their families so intense it scares most normal people.

But perhaps the biggest difference between the two royal couples of Charming is their lasting legacy. Gemma and JT is a cautionary tale- what greed and grief can do to tear a couple apart. Jax and Tara is hopeful- your true love can and will come back to you, if only you keep faith.

* * *

 _Jax and Opie at the head AU_

"It's something that needs to be discussed at the table." Opie states and Jax shrugs, drinking his beer.

"I don't disagree." He says calmly. "But with the interstate undergoing all that construction, I think the highways and back roads are going to be busier than usual and we need to account for that."

"And I agree, but as times change, we need to change as well." Opie says calmly and Jax nods in agreement.

"I just think we need a plan going to the table, as leaders." Jax explains and Opie nods, pondering it.

"Hey." Tara pokes her head around the corner, raising her eyebrows at them. "Wanna come get your children under control?"

"What are they doing now?" Jax asks, getting up and putting out his cigarette. "Causing destruction and chaos?"

"Like only your children know how." Tara says with an amused look. "Whoever said boys were easier than girls clearly never met Teller or Winston boys. Or Teller and Winston girls for that matter."

"Oi!" Jax yells, walking out the back door into the backyard. The splashing in the pool stops at several faces turn to him. "Are you not listening to your mother?" He demands.

"Thomas won't stop splashing us!" A little blonde girl pips up instantly. The youngest blond boy gasps and puts his hands up.

"I haven't been doing nothing!" He insists.

"I tried to get him to stop." Ellie, reclining on a chair with her phone, informs him without looking up. "They won't listen."

"Well listen to me now, all of you." He stares down the 4 boys sternly. "Be nice to your sisters, do you understand me?"

"Yes." Ken, Piper, Abel, and Thomas all chorus.

"Ok, we'll call you when dinner is ready." He and Opie walk back inside, shaking their heads.

"Our children only listen to you, why is that?" Lyla asks with a smile, as she pulls pizza from the oven.

"Because I'm the most intimidating." Jax says, grinning. "Op's beard just makes him look like a teddy bear."

"A vicious teddy bear." Lyla teases, kissing Opie's check.

"It's nothing short of a miracle, considering you never tell them no." Tara reminds Jax.

"Hey, I told Abel he couldn't get a dirt bike until he was 13. And I told Thomas that he wasn't going to skip school to go with me to Oregon. And I told Keira she wasn't going to Disney for her birthday party." Jax defends himself.

"And what's your excuse for letting Dev have all those Oreos last night?" Tara questions and Jax shrugs.

"Kid has your eyes, how can I ever tell him no? So basically it's your fault for making them so cute." He grins and kisses her as she rolls her eyes, setting the table but there's a half smile on her face.

"Speaking of the baby, I'm going to make sure he's still asleep." Lyla says, disappearing down the hall.

"Is everyone coming?" Tara asks and Jax nods, taking a deep breath and sitting down.

"Whole club." He tells her and she grabs more plates.

"Go grab the kids then and tell them to wash up." Tara requests of Opie, who nods and ducks back outside. "Is everything ok?" She asks of Jax, capitalizing on the momentary absence of everyone.

"Yes?" Jax says unsurely.

"Have you had that big vote yet?" Tara asks bluntly and he shakes his head, getting up and taking her hands.

"No, Op and I are still walking through our choices and outcomes." He says quietly and Tara nods. "But I promise you when we do make it, you will know. I'll do what's best for our children."

"I know." Tara looks out the kitchen window, where Opie is trying to order the children out of the pool unsuccessfully. "And I love you for that Jax, I really do. And I trust you."

"Good." Jax cuts off any more of her worries with a long, deep kiss. "Because as my wife, all you should worry about is the 4 little wild children we're trying to raise, right?"

"Oh, I worry about that daily." She says ruefully and Jax grins then opens the door to the backyard.

"Alright, enough, inside or I'll eat all the pizza!" He yells. There's splashing and then the kids come streaming through the door, towels flying and water splattering on the floor.

"Excellent work." Tara says dryly, throwing Jax a towel to wipe the hardwood floor down.

"Did you get one with cheese?" Willow demands, helping Keira pull her chair closer to the table.

"Nope, all of them have mushrooms on them." Lyla informs them and the children gasp, stopping their scramble to look at her in anger and disbelief. "Yes, we got cheese you guys." Lyla laughs and shakes her head, setting the pizza on the table and rolling her eyes.

"Did we hear pizza?" Juice calls, walking in.

"You'll have to fight them to get them to share." Jax jokes, his youngest son Dev cradled in his arms.

"Where's Juanita?" Tara asks and Juice guides a short, Hispanic woman into the house, who's holding a baby girl.

"She's crabby because we got her ears pierced today." Juice explains, as Tara beams and takes the baby.

"Whiny like her father, poor kid." Kozak comments casually, squeezing past them into the house. He sets his case of beer on the counter, kissing Tara and Lyla's cheeks, then sitting at the table with the children, munching on pizza like he belongs with them.

"I am making a roast." Tara informs him, amused.

"Pizza's better." Kozak responds with a mouthful.

"Alright, alright, let's leave the kids where they belong." Jax says, walking into the main room. Happy arrives with Bobby, Phil brings treats for the kids and the wives groan at the amount of sugar. More people fill into Tara and Jax's house, crow eaters and friends, bringing food and laughter.

Jax and Opie sit at the head of the table, watching their family, content.

 **AN:** This AU could also be titled "And everyone lived happily ever after but Kurt Sutter is why we can't have nice things". Let me know your thoughts? Tara, Jax, Abel, Gemma... And now reviews?


	43. Season 4- Una Venta

Episode 4: Una Venta

 _Gemma gardening past_

"I need you to take her today." Rose declares, gesturing to the baby in the high chair, who's far more interested in her mashed peas than her parents.

"It's Wednesday, you know I write my sermons on Wednesday." Nate says, surprised. Rose doesn't even blink as she slides beans onto his plate.

"Well my Junior League meeting got rescheduled for this afternoon and I can't have her there." Rose says curtly. "It's for a couple hours this afternoon. You can write your sermon this evening."

"But…" Nate goes to protest but Rose is already tidying up the kitchen, apparently deaf. Once he's finished eating, she washes the dishes and Gemma's face before changing the little girl into a clean outfit. She perfectly coifs her hair and sweeps out with hardly a second glance backwards.

"I'll be home by 4!"

"What am I going to do with you for three hours?" He mutters to Gemma, who rewards him with a gummy smile and a wave of her hands. With a sigh, he gathers her up and decides there's no need to deviate from his routine- he'll place her on the floor in his study and get work done. Rose will be home before either of them knows it.

Except Gemma seems to know how clueless he is with her. She doesn't want any of her toys and shrieks with dislike when he offers her new ones. She doesn't want to eat, she has a dry diaper, and she's determined not to sleep. Instead she fusses, crying on and off, until Nate is at his wits end.

As a last ditch effort, he puts her in the car and drives. He stops at the gardens, hoping that the brightly colored flowers will do something to distract her. He sits down in a grass patch, spreading their blanket out and setting her down, anticipating wails.

Instead Gemma is content to look around with her wide, dark eyes. Slowly, not believing his luck, Nate takes out his notepad with a half scrawled out sermon and begins to write. Gemma is quiet, so he begins to speak to her.

"And today, my darling daughter, we're going to talk about the sermon on the mount, do you know what that is? It's very important, so listen very closely…"

"Hello." Rose walks in and looks around in surprise. Gemma is asleep in her bassinet as Nate thumbs through his Bible. "How was the afternoon?"

"Lovely." He stands and kisses his wife, glancing at his daughter. "She was as agreeable as a warm summer's morning."

(-)

"Gemma?" Nate doubles back past the nook in the churches wall. His daughter is sitting there, arms wrapped around knees, the tips of her shiny black dress shoes peeping out from under her velvet red dress. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Gemma swipes at her cheek with the back of her hand, clearly trying to wipe away the evident tear tracks.

"Now that's not nothing." He kneels next to her and takes her hands. "What's wrong?"

"The boys were being mean to me!" She bursts into more tears. "They're so mean Daddy, they pushed me and said they were going to make me go in the cemetery!"

"You don't have to go into the cemetery." He says soothingly, knowing Gemma's fears. "I'm sorry they were mean. Do you want to come with me after church today?"

"Where will we go?" Gemma asks curiously, her tears subsiding some.

"How about the gardens?" Nate suggests and Gemma lights up. She's always loved that place. "Easter is coming soon and I think we should plant some new flowers to celebrate, what do you think?"

"Yes!" Gemma throws her arms around his neck in enthusiasm and he smiles.

"Do you want to help me plant this year?" He asks her, once they're out of their church clothes and walking into the garden, tools in hand.

"Can I?" Gemma gasps and he nods, grinning at her awe. She claps her hands and when they kneel in the dirt, seeds and bulbs beside them, Gemma listens as if he's imparting the universe's secrets to her.

"You want to turn the soil a little bit, let it breathe." He gently moves the black dirt with his spade and Gemma mirrors him, watching closely. "Feel the soil- is it clumped? Is it cool? Is it damp? If you know your soil, Gemma, you'll know your plants."

"Know the soil." Gemma repeats. They spend the rest of the afternoon planting all sorts of flowers in their plot- roses and tulips and daisies and more, Gemma asking endless questions about how much sun and how much water, how big they will grow and what colors they will be. Nate leaves feeling like he's planted more than flowers today, watching as Gemma skips through the garden with her pink watering can.

(-)

"Where could she be?" Rose is walking through the house, fuming. "How could she run away today, on all of days?" Rose presses the palm of her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes.

"I'll find her." Nate reassures Rose, hoping in the car and leaving his worried wife behind. He knows where to look. He parks the car in front of the garden and goes in, walking by memory to their plot. There Gemma kneels, mud staining her black dress.

"I'm not going." Her voice rings out strong and clear. She hasn't been crying, Nate knows that much.

"Gemma, you're coming. How can you not?" He reasons, walking up and trying to put a hand on her shoulder. She flinches away from his touch.

"Because I can't." The determination in her voice is slipping, replaced with the hollowness of a broken girl. "How can you ask me to do this?"

"He was your brother." Nate's own voice is heavy. "He would want you there."

"What, at some stupid memorial?" Gemma's tone is abruptly bitter. "So the community can come and pay their dues and pretend that because they shook our hands and said sorry, that we should be over it?"

"Gemma, that's not how it is." He is tired, bone tired, but if he just gets through today, then somehow he can rest. Fighting with Gemma is not making it any better.

"Yes it is." Gemma's eyes are flashing now, the anger he's only seen glimpses of rising to full force. "That's how she sees it, that's how they all see it. His life was more than this! He deserves more than this!"

"Gemma." Now it's Nate's turn to get sharp. "If you're not going to do it for your brother or your mother, do it for me." Gemma goes still and slowly turns to look at him. "I will not ask you again Gemma. Get in the car, get through this, and I will never ask you to do something like this again."

"It hurts." Gemma whimpers and Nate's already shattered heart manages to crack just a little more. "I want him back daddy, I want my little brother back." A hundred Bible verses run through Nate's mind, ones he's spoken to every grieving family he's ever met. But instead he drops to his knees and wraps Gemma in his arms. After a long moment, they both rise.

"We will get through it." He mutters to her, guiding her to the car. He glances over the top of her head. Every single flower has been ripped from the ground and Gemma's nails are stained black.

* * *

 _Why she never took Clay's last name_

Gemma Teller. She loved that name. Gemma Maddock was the pastor's daughter, the good girl in a black lace dress and bobby socks, a big bow and wide, innocent eyes, feet swinging from a church pew. Maddock was Rose's turf. It was a chain, shackling her to her parents. Whenever she said that last name, it was met with surprise- what was the good pastor's daughter doing here in a bar? Or pity- wasn't there a little Maddock boy that had died a while back? Or worse, with reverence- isn't your mother the wonderful Rose?

Teller was different. Teller rolled off the tongue easier. Her new name was like a new identity and she shed everything to do with who she was before she was a wife. She was free to be a new person and she loved it. She loved the black leather boots, the tight corset tops, the dark makeup applied like war paint.

No one in Charming would ever associate the last name Teller with a church. No one would assume that a Teller was a god-fearing person. No one will think it's odd to see a Teller slamming down shots in a bar, dancing on top of it. And there's nothing Gemma loves more than this.

The last name Teller is power. It is important. It is protection. It is dangerous. It is hers. It's her son's, a link that binds them together nearly as tight as it binds her to John. When she walks into a room full of people and the name Teller is announced, she likes that it commands respect. It makes her back a little straighter, her smirk a little bigger. She knows who she is and she knows that everyone else knows it too.

Even when John dies, Teller is still a force to be reckoned with in Charming. His ghost looms large over everyone and everything, his name spoken with the hushed tones of a fallen leader. Even as it's Clay's arms that wrap around her at night, Gemma can't bring herself to change it.

Even when Clay puts a ring on her finger, she can't bring herself to change it. And when they stand in front of a judge and swear love and loyalty, she ops for the hyphen.

It's for Jax, she tells him. It's for her son, so he doesn't feel completely like an orphan. If Jax was the only Teller left, it would hurt him. She's not still in love with John, that old bastard. It's all for Jax, and for Tommy's memory too.

But it's not and she knows it. Clay probably knows it too. It's a fact- Teller carries more weight in this town than Morrow does. And Gemma can't quite bring herself back off the pedestal she's built with her last name- all the doors it's opened, all the people she reigns over with it. Taking Clay's last name would be detaching herself from the very root of SAMCRO. Clay may be first nine, but he's not the founder.

And so she's Gemma Teller-Morrow, but occasionally the 'Morrow' falls off and she doesn't bother to correct it.

* * *

 _John Teller and books_

"You can only bring what's necessary." Piney tells John, who gestures to the items on his cot.

"They are all necessary." He insists and Piney raises an eyebrow, picking up a thick book. "I'm midway through that, it's not in a place where I can put it down." He explains and Piney points to the three other books. "What if I finish this book?"

"John." Piney is fast losing his patience, closing his eyes and sighing. "You can't bring four books. Hell, they said we probably wouldn't even want to carry an extra pair socks, that's how long this trek is going to be!"

"It's my bag to haul." John reminds him, moving things around in his pack so the books will fit.

"God help you." Piney grumbles, putting his hands up and walking away from the mess. John tosses his bag aside and sits down on the cot, picking up the thick book and opening it to the earmarked page.

He's always been a reader. Call it a hazard of being an only child. But he's always loved the words, how they fit together, some short, some long, but always interesting. He loves that one day he might be a pirate, another day he's a star baseball player, the next a young boy from a jungle village. He loves the escape, getting out of his head for five minutes and forgetting it all.

He likes all the information. He's the kind of person that knows random facts- he can butt into a conversation and casually reference the war of 1812 and strategies used before digressing on Confucius's later work. It's confusing as hell to most people but John likes knowing things.

He needs his books here. He'd gladly carry them on his back, taking the extra copy pounds if that's what it takes to have some sort of distraction from the bullets and fire. When he's reading of these ideas, he can ignore the fact he's in some godforsaken jungle thousands of miles from home and instead think about building a different society, the people he would need for it, how he would live in it.

Some guys carry pictures of their sweethearts back home. Some guys just carry pinups. That's their distraction. John doesn't have some doe-eyed girl waiting for her G.I. to come home but he has books and an idea. When the bullets rain down and the sky never darkens because of that hazy glow of fire, John hunkers down with a book and thinks about his future and he escapes everything.

* * *

 _Jax through Piney's eyes_

Jax walks into the clubhouse, laughing and pulling his gloves off, tossing them aside. For a second, with the sunlight bright behind him, Piney sees something else entirely.

John, broad shouldered and long haired, his easy and familiar smile on his face, looking around with quiet joy and pride at the life he's creating.

Then Piney blinks and it's just Jax again, the kid he's always known, his second son.

"I think it's a stupid mistake and it's going to get us killed." Jax slams his fist down on the table, the jolt threatening to spill their beers. All Piney hears is John 20 years ago roaring,

"This club will never do drugs, do you understand me?" Clay and the rest were cowed back then, ducking their heads and averting their gaze.

But then Clay decrees that they will do things anyways and it's just Jax again, the VP of the club, not it's founder.

Piney wants peace and quiet and most of all a smoke, so he heads outside, where no one will bother him. As he rounds the corner towards the darkness, he spots a figure reclining in a lawn chair, a book in their lap, scribbling in a notebook.

It's John in his foxhole, always carrying a blasted book with him no matter how much room it took up, always jotting down his notes and thoughts. He'd let Piney read some of it, sometimes, and share with him his ideas of life outside the norms.

Then a motorcycle pulls into the parking lot, it's headlight shinning on them and Jax looks up, spotting him and smiling. It's just Jax again.

He's belligerently drunk, to the point where his limbs end somewhere about his elbows and kneecaps and he's lost control of the rest. He's slumped somewhere, head spinning, seconds away from throwing up.

Then two strong hands reach under his armpits and haul him up, catching him with ease. He's aware he's being half carried and half dragged away from the noise. He opens his mouth to protest but he just gargles. He's tossed unceremoniously onto a bed and a pillow is placed behind him to make sure he can't roll onto his back.

He squints to see the figure as they pull his shoes off and put a bucket beside his head. His head is swimming and his vision is blurry, but he knows who it is.

"Thanks John." He mutters, leaning towards the bucket as his stomach twists.

"You're welcome old man." As he throws up, the voice rings in his ears. Once he's done, he has enough clarity to see the man slip out the door, glancing back just once. Jax's worried face is the last thing he sees before he passes out.

"Daddy, catch me!" Abel's yells ring out across the parking lot and Piney pauses in taking a drink to watch as Abel throws himself off the playground into Jax's waiting arms.

"Whoa, careful you crazy man!" Jax swings him high above his head, grinning. "You're fearless, aren't you?" And in Piney's head, this moment is happening 25 years ago.

A tall man in a kutte, catching his impulsive blond son, laughing at how the little quickly wants to be put down so he can race back up the stairs and be caught again, throwing himself into the unknown with no fear, just joy and complete trust that his father will be there to catch him.

"Daddy, again!" Abel's voice is higher than Jax's was and when he jumps again, Piney is back in the present and Jax is just Jax again, a father and a son.

 **AN:** I think I could write a Gemma moment for every episode, holy. Also, a grand prize for anyone who can guess why whenever Potter comes on screen I just yell YOU CAN THANK ME LATER BURT. Also, a big thank you to everyone that does review- I appreciate it so so much. To everyone that reads- I appreciate you too but also reviews?


	44. Season 4- Brick

Episode 5: Brick

 _Opie wanting another baby (Willow)_

She's so tiny, that's all the Opie can marvel over. She's the smallest child he's ever had, mostly because Kenny was a monster at 9 pounds and Ellie was a healthy 7 pounds, but Willow is living up to her name- small and delicate, with long limbs and only 5 pounds on her frame. It seems like everything in the world could hurt her.

"You're going 15 miles an hour." Lyla comments, amused.

"So?" He says defensively.

"Opie, the speed limit is 55."

"I'm being careful." A car whizzes past them and Lyla turns around to glance in the backseat.

"Guys, how's she doing?"

"Just fine." Ellie informs them, enraptured at the fact that Willow has wrapped her fist around Ellie's pinky and is fast asleep.

"Is she dead?" Piper asks and Opie nearly drives off the side of the road.

"Why!"

"She never opens her eyes."

"Piper, she's sleeping." Lyla assures him, resting a hand on Opie's arm as he breathes heavily. "Babies sleep a lot. You did too."

"She's kinda boring." Ken pipes up.

"Give it a couple years." Opie orders and they all hush. When they get home, Opie is caught between helping Lyla into the house and gently carrying Willow.

"Get the baby." Lyla is holding back a smile, seeming amused at the fact that her scary biker has been reduced to a nervous father. "I can walk just fine."

"Ok, everyone inside." Opie says and the kids scramble out as he gingerly detaches the carseat. Striving to keep it as level as possible, he walks inside. He sets the carseat on the floor and reaches in, undoing the complicated set of buckles and latches.

"Those use to be so much simpler. Piper's had like 3, I swear." Lyla comments, walking around the living room and tidying it up out of habit.

"And we use to just sit on our parents' laps." Opie mutters, straightening the small pink beanie on his daughter's head, proudly emblazoned with the reaper. He reaches in and gently tugs Willow out of the carseat. He sits down on the couch, gazing down at her in amazement. He doesn't notice Lyla picking up a camera and taking a picture, watching him with adoration.

"She's beautiful isn't she?" Lyla mummers and Opie nods, watching as Willow's lips pucker slightly and she sighs in her sleep.

"She's perfect." He says quietly. "You can go get some rest, I'll watch her."

"You sure?" Lyla raises an eyebrow.

"I do have two kids." He reminds her, smiling slightly.

"Ok kids, leave your daddy alone." Lyla orders and the kids turn on the TV, curling up on the couch and chairs around him. He keeps Willow nuzzled in his arms, occasionally glancing down to see that she's still sleeping.

"Daddy, I'm hungry." Ken announces, when the credits roll.

"Do we want some mac and cheese?" He asks, gently getting up, Willow still tucked carefully in the crook of his elbow.

"I can help make it." Ellie hops off the couch, leading her brothers into the kitchen. "Pips, you get the milk out. Kenny, you get the box." As they scramble to grab things, Opie sits back and watches them work with a smile.

"Careful turning the stove on." He warns and Ellie makes sure to keep everything free of the burner. They impatiently wait for the water to boil, coming back to peek at Willow from time to time. Piper is the most fascinated, even if he's bewildered why she won't wake up.

The mac and cheese is a little gooey once it's all said and done, but the kids don't complain. They seem thrilled to have done something by themselves for once and are excitedly chattering about their next adventure- maybe they're ready for spaghetti. Opie just sits and holds Willow, watching his family in amusement.

"Daddy." Ellie says suddenly and he turns to her, raising an eyebrow. "Do you think Mom would've liked Willow?"

"Well," He tries to keep her from realizing that he feels like a dagger has been plunged into his heart. "Your mom loved every baby she ever saw. She could spot a baby in a two mile radius. I think yes, she would've liked your new little sister."

"Good." Ellie says stoutly, leaning forward and kissing Willow's hat. "Cause I like her too."

"Yeah," Opie gazes down at his two daughters and wonders when the last time he felt so at peace was. "I like her too."

* * *

 _The real reason Clay killed JT_

Jealousy. Hatred. Greed. Power. Desire. Lust. Money. Stubbornness. Adoration. Love. Spite.

Clay kills John because he is jealous. He is jealous of John's easy smile and confident walk, of how he radiates ease in his kutte, something that Clay hasn't quite mastered. He's jealous that John stands above him. He is jealous that people go to John for advice, for their secrets, for permission, for everything. And most of all, he is jealous that the girls want John before him, that Gemma, the queen of all crow eaters, goes to bed with John each and every night.

And over time that blossoms into hatred. He hates feeling like John is the alpha and he is the beta. He hates that he's the sidekick and John is the superhero. Don't do anything without John's permission. Follow John's examples. John has the wisest opinions. He hates him.

Then there's the fact that John has the biggest cut. Sure, it's mostly equal. And sure, half the time John puts the money back into the club. Or he donates it to the community so that they can stay in the good graces of Charming's elite. But he also has the nicest bike, the biggest house, the best cigars… And Clay thinks that he deserves these things and more.

He wants the power. He wants people to listen to his ideas, to respect his choices, to agree that he is the smartest. He wants the gavel. He wants them to keep running guns, to move in on drugs, to expand their operation. But at every turn John blocks the motions, instead musing about life and it's meaning, his purpose and the purpose of the club, what they should want in the future. Nothing Clay cares about.

He wants Gemma. He wants her like he's never wanted a woman, ever since one night when she was mad at John and he was mad back and she's straddled Clay's lap and he'd felt her hot breath on his neck. She'd slid off him before it could go any further, but since then his dreams were filled with her, naked, glistening, panting, screaming his name.

He can't get her out of his mind. He watches as she struts around the club in tight jeans or a short skirt, corset tops and tits on display. She's perfect, like a panther, slinking around. He knows every guy in the clubhouse would jump on a chance to fuck her, but he wants something else. He wants her to be as in love with him as she was with John.

Money is the simplest motive. President makes the most money. The most money means the nicest things. Wealth is power and if there's one thing Clay can't get enough of, it's power.

He and John, like old goats, have locked horns and refuse to let go. They'll stay in this battle until they both die, starved rather than admit defeat. There is no persuading John and there is no convincing Clay. They have decided their paths and, as much as they both don't think they want to admit it, they cannot tear the club in separate directions.

John is adored by Charming, in ways that Clay never will. He doesn't have those baby blues, bright as a summer sky. His 5'clock shadow doesn't look handsome and rugged, he looks unkept. His smile is that of a predator, not a Hollywood starlet that had shrugged off the mantle of his former life. John is the kind of man who could charm a church grandma out of her donation money, where Clay would have to steal her purse.

And he is loved. Loved by Piney, who has always treated Clay with an air of indifference. Loved by Gemma, who proudly totes his children around. Loved by Jax, who called him Uncle Clay growing up and always ran past him for his father. Loved by crow eaters, by prospects, by business owners, law enforcement, everyone. Clay earns respect and John is given love.

But what it comes down to, the real reason Clay brides, threatens, and blackmails Lowell, stands beside John's bedside without shedding a tear, and can't help but smirk as he escorts John's coffin to the grave, is that he wanted this to happen. He wanted John to be hurt, to die. He wants Gemma, the gavel, the money and power, sure. But mostly, he just really wanted John Teller dead.

* * *

 _Why Gemma protects Tara_

She remembers, vividly, the first time Tara defied her. It had been a cool March day. Jax and Tara had been fighting, a development Gemma was fine with. She already disliked that Jax spent less time at the club and more time with Tara, so their first lover's spat was encouraged by the queen of Charming.

It had been over something ridiculous. They'd been at a party and Tara had driven them home in Opie's truck, hauling Jax inside and leaving him on the couch. Gemma had woken up and watched as Tara yanked Jax's shoes off, muttering darkly.

She'd made some glib comment, sure that Tara would have scurried away, tail between her legs. Instead, the tiny girl had straightened up, eyes blazing, and proceeded to rip apart Gemma's parenting skills, starting with Tommy and ending with John. Then she'd had the audacity to slam the door on the way out.

She'd been livid. When hungover Jax stumbled in the kitchen the next morning, she'd unleashed a furious tirade against his girlfriend, ending with the ultimatum that he break up with her. Jax had laughed, finished his cereal, kissed her cheek, and walked out the door. Gemma had had all of half a day of being smug before going to club and seeing Tara there, sitting on Jax's lap.

Not only was she there, she was wearing that ring. John's ring. The one she'd given Jax nearly a year ago when he'd gotten his bike. It was sitting where a wedding ring might on Tara's hand and judging from the self satisfied smirk on Tara's face, she knew it.

Gemma had been furious. Livid. It'd taken Clay practically tying her to the bar to keep her from storming out there and ripping Tara's head off. Things never improved from there and when Tara had left, Gemma had taken that ring back and promised she would never see it on some girl's hand again.

But Tara had came back. And Gemma had practically forgotten what it was like to have someone stand up to her, brash and unforgiving. Maybe old age had softened her over time but it was rather endearing, how Tara didn't fall in line like all the other old ladies. She challenged Gemma, took no shit, and blossomed into a hard ass biker queen.

In short, she reminded Gemma of herself, minus the medical degree. And when Gemma sees her with Thomas in her arms and Abel on her hip, the proud mother of two strong Teller boys, she realizes she has a daughter again.

She realizes where Clay is coming from. If it had been five years ago, she would've been right there beside him, ready to cut out the cancer threatening to grow near SAMCRO's heart. But she can't. Not Tara. Not the mother of these babies. Their good mother, who is kind and attentive and caring and loving.

She will not making her grandsons orphans. She will not make Jax a widower. And Clay, so quick to jump to conclusions, to turn and bite the hand that feeds him, doesn't realize that Tara can be brought into the fold, just like Gemma was. She's got sons now and if there's one thing that tightly bonds everyone around them, it's family.

Tara is family. And Gemma would die protecting those she loves.

* * *

 _Opie taking Ima home_

"Hey Opie." Ima's arms are like snakes, circling around his neck. Squeeze too tight and she could strangle him. It doesn't matter, he feels like he's suffocating anyways. He takes another drink of whiskey and when he doesn't brush her off like he normally would, she slinks a little closer, emboldened.

"Ima." He's still smarting after finding the birth control pills in Lyla's drawers, though he's not sure why. Does he even want another baby? Does he just want Lyla out of porn? Could he even afford another baby? Would his kids want another sibling? Having Piper didn't get Lyla out the first time, why would this kid be different? Would that even-

"You seem… Tense." Ima's hands are rubbing his shoulders and that draws him out of his train of thought on Lyla. "You could use a little rub down."

"Sure." He goes with her automatically, letting her take him by the hand and prance towards the dorm room. He doesn't even want to think about the smug smile of her face, how she's strutting around, practically shouting 'Look at me, look who wants me'.

He doesn't care. He's not seeing her. He keeps seeing Lyla's pills, her apologetic face month of month when she would leave the bathroom, holding a negative test and pretending to be crestfallen.

"How could I get pregnant when I didn't want it, but it's so hard getting pregnant now when I do want it?" She would lament and Opie would draw her in with a kiss and reassurance that they would keep trying, keep trying. Then she'd head off to work, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she was lying to her husband.

"Opie." Ima is practically purring as she locks the door behind them, her lips greedy for his mouth and throat, nipping and sucking. She always did like leaving thing for the wives to find afterwards.

He goes through the motion- tug shirt off. Feel boob. Unclasp bra. Push both boobs up. He tries to get lost in the rhythm, let Ima distract him, but it's not working. He still sees Lyla, smiling, at him from their bed. Lyla, a naive schoolgirl in a too short skirt, seemingly surprised at being spanked.

He's not sure if he's angry as he push Ima down on the bed and tries desperately to tune out her squeals and her exaggerated panting, saying his name loudly though he knows that it's not possible for her to be getting that much pleasure from what he's doing. He's not sure if he's furious, sad, jealous, or just spiteful. But he thrusts deeper into Ima and tries not to figure out which he is.

When he finishes and pushes Ima off of him, he doesn't feel anything. He just feels empty.

 **AN:** So sorry for not updating last week! I was in the middle of a cornfield. Literally. But boy oh boy does this reference a lot of my other stories- whoops! Let me know what you think!


	45. Season 4- With An X

Episode 6: With an X

 _"She's teaching him Spanish."_

"Abel." Willow yells, walking into the house and glancing around in disgust. Dirty clothes are strewn over the furniture, dirty dishes pile high in the sink, and she's sure the last time the carpet was vacuumed was her last visit. With a sigh, she gingerly places her bag on the only clean kitchen chair and pulls her hair into a high pony. She's just remaking the bed when the door opens. She straightens up, smiling.

"Wills?" Abel yells and she exits the bedroom, grinning. He's looking around at his clean house in bewilderment. "When did you get here, last week?" He demands.

"I wish, then maybe I could've beat the mold that was growing in the lasagna pan." She says sweetly. He laughs and pulls her in for a tight hug and kiss.

"I missed you." He mutters, rocking back and forth.

"I missed you too." She kisses his cheek. "Your last load of laundry should be done soon."

"And how many of my sweatshirts did you steal this time?" He asks in amusement.

"Only a couple." She says easily, twisting out of his arms and going to the chiming dryer in the closet.

"It'll be a miracle if I have any left." He shakes his head and watches as she pulls teeshirts out of the dryer, balancing the basket on her hip.

"You have clean socks now so hush." She orders, walking towards the bedroom, using the basket to give her hips an extra sway. Abel follows her and takes the basket, setting it aside before tossing her on the bed. Willow laughs and kisses him, tangling her fingers in his hair while he works at her bra.

(-)

"Baby." He mummers in her ear. Willow, half asleep, groans and tries to roll away from him. "We gotta get up. We're going to the club."

"I want to sleep." She grumbles, trying to use a pillow to create a barrier. "I drove hours, I need a nap."

"Willow…" He's running his hands up her leg and she turns to him. He grabs her waist and picks her up, pulling her out of bed. She groans.

"I don't wanna."

"They miss you." He tells her and she sighs in acceptance, reaching down to find her underwear. "And I promise we won't even stay that long."

"I want a nap." She reiterates and Abel laughs, kissing her forehead.

"You can have a nap after this."

"Do I have sex hair?" She asks once they're dressed and outside, trying to tame it so it'll fit under the helmet.

"Yes and it's glorious as always." Abel kisses her nose and she frowns.

"Yeah, you say that now until Piper punches you in the face." She warns him and he shrugs.

"When have I ever been scared of your brothers?" When Willow gets off the bike in front of the clubhouse, it's easy to see that her brothers still haven't accept the relationship as well as others have. Piper folds his arms and glares, while Ken stalks away.

"Told you." She mutters and Abel rolls his eyes.

"We've been dating for like half a year. They'll get over it soon enough." He responds, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Willow." Tig walks out of the clubhouse with outstretched arms, pulling her into a hug. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good Tiggy. How is everyone here?" She smiles up at him and he gives a little half shrug, leading her inside. Willow and Abel mingle with everyone nicely, having a couple drinks. It's peaceful, normal, utterly predictable, until…

"Why did you bring him here?" Rat demands and Bowen, waving happily to Willow, stops and snaps back to attention.

"Cos I can't speak Spanish. I didn't know what ta do." He explains and the young Mexican boy being held in his grasp is looking around at the guns and bikers in terror.

"Glad to know nothing's changed." Willow comments dryly and Bowen makes a face at her.

"He lives in the apartment across from da warehouse." Bowen reminds them. "He'd know who goes in and out."

"You're probably right." Happy mutters and they all turn to him. "What?"

"You're the Mexican, what's he saying?" Piper asks and Happy glares.

"I don't know fucking Spanish."

"Willow?" Tig glances at her and she puts her hands up.

"I can translate a children's book, not that." She declares and Abel leaves her side, going to kneel next to the boy.

"Hola, soy Abel." He says quietly. "Yo vivo aqui y los son mi familia. Tengo preguntas para usted, entiende?" The boy nods and Willow is staring at Abel in astonishment. "Su familia vivían cerca de un almacén, si?" The boy nods again. "Necesito saber quien entrar en y salir."

The boy talks in rapid-fire Spanish, the kind that Willow never would've been able to keep up with. But Abel nods thoughtfully, listening intently. He mutters words here or there but is mostly quiet. Then the boy goes silent and Abel glances at them.

"So?" Happy demands, as if this is normal.

"He says that three men go there everyday." Abel translate smoothly. "They have big guns. They're the same men that take money from his mother every week." Abel keeps detailing the schedule and once he's done, most of the club drifts towards the table, arguing.

"Hey." Willow hands Bowen a crisp bill. "Take him to get ice cream or something to make up for this trauma. And then take him home. Kidnapping is illegal."

"Aye ma." He teases, kissing her head. Abel explains to the kid what's happening and waves as they go.

"You can speak Spanish?" Willow asks, tugging on Abel's hand to stop him from going to church.

"Yes?" He says, as if this should be obvious.

"That's not high school Spanish." Willow states and Abel shrugs.

"I grew up speaking it. Nero taught me more when we moved. It's a handy language to know in California Wills."

"Unbelievable. How are there still things about you I don't know?" She marvels and he kisses her cheek.

"Te amo, mi corazón." He whispers and that Spanish she knows.

* * *

 _Mama Gemma_

The clubhouse is not a place for children, that had been one of the first decrees of the club. That, of course, had been before Mary and Gemma and drunken one night stands and crow eaters. For all intents and purposes, they were still badass bikers. But they were badass bikers with babies.

For the most part, they kept their sacred space. Gemma intruded the most- she was damned proud of Jax and Thomas and John loved his boys so. But mostly, the kids were kept out of the clubhouse.

They gathered at Gemma's house for suppers and parties, burgers on the grill and kids screaming on a trampoline. Adults sipping beer and laughing. And reigning high above them all was Queen Gemma.

She knew every child personally. Knew names, birthdays, allergies, what shows they like and what vegetables they would refuse to eat. And though Gemma only has two sons, she has many children.

She buys groceries because she knows who's mother is on a binge and will forget. She picks them up from detentions after school for fighting because she knows who's father is on a run for the club. She changes diapers and gets new school supplies and spanks them when they fight with their siblings.

Half the time she's listed as the other emergency contact on school forms. If anything were to happen to Charming Elementary, the school could call Gemma Teller and have half their calls over with. She organizes trips to the park or the pool, slathering on sunscreen and yelling that they each get one snack.

They listen to her better than their own parents, that's a given. She commands their utmost respect. They know any punishment she decrees is final and no amount of begging or pleading will change that. But they also know that no one keeps their secrets better and that come Christmas, Gemma's present is what they really wanted.

She's Mama Gemma, their mother.

* * *

 _Dawn and Fawn "Which one?" "Crazy one." "…Which one?"_

Dawn and Fawn. Colleen and her ridiculous hippie names. Tig was still trying to recover from the fact that there was two of them to really give a shit.

She'd gone into labor on the hottest day of the summer. Tig remembers because the leather of his bike had practically burned his ass when he had sped to the hospital when Gemma gave him the news. It'd been hot and he'd wanted nothing more than a cold shower and a colder beer.

They'd been early. Early meant tiny. Tiny meant fragile. Fragile meant Tig hadn't dared touch them, just stared at them in their little bassinets, bewildered at how these little humans were his.

Of course, he and Colleen never could've survived their birth. She wanted to move to a commune. Gemma had laughed out loud at that. She'd wanted Tig to lose the kutte, ditch the bike, and sit around a fire, singing songs and making flower crowns.

He'd let her take the girls when they were still practically toddlers. Fine by him. He'd never known how to raise kids anyways. But he'd missed them, in a strange way. Colleen sent him their artwork and he'd stuck it to the fridge, grinning at it.

They were a little strange, but he was perfectly ok with that. They'd had their own language, he remembers. They'd speak in gibberish, bursting into laughter at apparently nothing. But they loved their daddy and he'd do anything to make them smile for those brief days they'd be with him.

He kept up with them, mostly. Enough to know that at 16 Dawn had gotten kicked out of the commune for her behavior and Fawn had chosen her sister over her mother. They'd stayed with Tig for awhile, causing chaos in the town of Charming. He had to admit he loved the looks on people's faces when they realized that these two girls- of course they belonged to Tig.

But it couldn't last. They'd gotten bored and impatient and antsy. They'd asked for more money than he had to give and got on a bus. They said they were going to go east, see the ocean or may snow. They hadn't decided. So he'd sent them off.

Communication got a little more spotty from there. Occasionally a postcard. More rarely a call. Usually just money, sent to whatever address they'd provided that month. But they were happy so he was happy.

There were boys. Excited declarations that this one was the one and then fury and tears when the inevitable breakup. Tig was usually too busy with the club to take much stock in it all.

But they were still his little girls, no matter what accusations Colleen would hurl- Dawn was into drugs, that was his fault. Fawn was depressed, that was his fault. They'd party, love men that beat them, ran with the wrong crowds. His fault, he had the addiction gene, he was never there for them, he set a bad example, all of it.

Tig didn't care. He just loved his girls.

* * *

 _"This is why mothers should drown baby girls." Rose quote_

She had grown up use to Rose's sharp words and clipped tone. She had embodied the mantra 'Children should be seen, not heard'. She was the poster child for being a preachers daughter- polite and demure, with a perpetual smile and perfect hair, shiny buckled shoes and lace dresses.

She had done everything to be perfect in her mother's eyes when she was young. She kept her room spotless, but Rose would still comment on the dust on the ceiling fan, the one place Gemma couldn't reach. Or she'd bake cookies for the bake sale and Rose would purse her lips, remarking that she should've used some different ingredient. Gemma strived stand up straight, back straight, a gracious smile. And Rose would still remark on a stain or a tear in Gemma's outfit, nothing escaping her eagle eyes.

Then Nathaniel had came along and he was perfect. He didn't need to follow Rose's strict rules. He could trek mud into the house and Rose would give a peal of laughter, commenting about how God made boys from mud, sunshine, and a pinch of love. Gemma wonders what God made girls with then- needles, stiff spines, and a scoop of disapproval?

She grew up hardly resenting him for it. She thought that was just how the world worked. Mothers loved their sons, doted on them, adored them. And daughters were meant to be quiet and polite and nice and if they weren't, then sharp words were necessary and deserved.

Still, sometimes she held her breath when he would run into a book club or prayer circle, a frog clutched in his hands. This offense, something Gemma might get smacked for, was met with laughter and the dismissal of 'Well, boys will be boys'.

Sometimes Gemma hated that phrase. Why did he get a pass when she didn't? Why did he get love when she didn't? Why? But it always faded, because her brother's smile was too bright and his life was too short.

She will never forget the day he died. The numbness, her father's grief, and her mother's devastation. As his casket was lowered into the ground, Rose's eyes met Gemma's and there was something there, something that chilled Gemma to the bone.

 **I wish it would've been you.**

It was a feeling that Gemma never shook and so she figured there was no point to being a good girl anymore. Rose's fury is useless- what does her mother's opinion matter when she'd rather see her daughter dead than her son? And then she gets her confirmation one night, as she strides through the house, drunk and still smelling like some man, when Rose lashes out.

"This is why mother's should drown baby girls."

The words hurt, unexpectedly. Gemma thought she was past Rose's judgements but she still stops, turning to look at her mother. Rose is standing, eyes flashing and so Gemma does two things. First, she makes up her mind that she will never come back to the place. And secondly, she will get the last word.

"I wished it was you in the casket too."

 **AN:** Well I'm not gonna lie, Tig as a daddy makes me unexpectedly see him as a big teddybear. Agree? Disagree? Let me know!


	46. Season 4- Fruit for the Crows

Episode 7: Fruit for the Crows

 _"You don't have a normal life baby. You have this one."_

There are days that Tara can pretend. On sleepy Wednesdays, when she has work off, she'll wake up slow. She'll spend at least 30 minutes in bed, just savoring the warmth of the covers, relishing how her pillows are perfectly soft and fluffy.

Then she'll get up and pad to the boys' rooms, checking that Abel is still snoozing and Thomas is dozing, chubby checks warm and mouth slightly open. This is her favorite part of the day, when she'll make chai or green tea, sipping on it while she's curled up, watching her babies.

If the boys sleep in, she'll start a load of laundry or dishes, trying to get the house back into a semblance of order. Clean up crayons, trucks, toy cars, stuffed animals, everything the boys manage to drag out over the course of their days. Usually she doesn't have long before one wakes up and the other is quick to follow.

Then she'll make breakfast as sunlight streams in. She sings in the kitchen. She feels like her mother use to sing in the kitchen. She likes to make omelets or smiley-face pancakes. She tries to get Abel as involved as possible- she wants to teach him to be self-sufficient.

She'll breastfeed Thomas, reveling the feeling of the baby in her arms. Then they sit around the table and eat, taking their time and appreciating that they don't have to rush. Tara finds that Abel talks the most in the morning, has questions about all sorts of things. She loves answering them, getting an insight into his little mind. He's fast leaving being a toddler and she clings to his small frame for as long as she can.

Then they play. After breakfast she'll turn on some cartoons, educational ones of course, and lets Abel watch them for a little bit, just so she can finish up some work. Then it's time to read books and do puzzles, act out a demo-derby, make a fort, pretend her and Thomas need rescuing, and color pictures for grandma.

Lunch is usually similar to breakfast. Abel has strong opinions on his food- mac and cheese must have hot dogs in it or it is not good. Pizza needs pepperoni on it or it is not good. Carrots are good. Brussel sprouts are not. On and on it goes, an endless list of likes and dislikes.

Thankfully, once she's made something that he likes, he's usually tuckered out and goes down for his nap. Somedays she can't bear to have him out of arms reach and he'll sleep in her and Jax's bed while Thomas is in her arms. She just wants her family close.

After lunch they try to leave the house. Abel has firm opinions on parks as well. He'll run free over playgrounds while she sits in the grass with his brother, keeping a careful eye that Abel doesn't stray too far. She marvels at his fearlessness. It doesn't even seem to register to him, the drop to the ground as he clambers around. She knows where he gets this fearlessness from, but she prays that he'll always be this innocent.

Post-park is pre-supper. On nights Jax will join them, Tara likes to make a bigger meal, potatoes and meat on the grill, veggies and a small treat for dessert. When the four of them sit around the table, when Abel is telling his father all about his day and Thomas's face is covered in mashed peas, when Jax's eyes light up and he beams at her, she feels happiness in it's purest form.

Baths are always an adventure. She usually ends up as wet as the boys, laughing as Abel splashes around, asking if he looks like a fish. The best is when he's in his PJs, small and clean, smelling like soap, curled into her side and asking for a story. She likes to tell him happy ones- the knights and princes always win, dragons are always beaten, and everyone always lives happily ever after.

She'll watch her sons sleep, usually with another tea in her hands, perfectly content to see them slumber, before they'll be ready to do it all over again. When her house is quiet and she finds a moment to watch a pre-recorded show, nestled in bed, she thinks that maybe she does have a normal life.

But then she'll find a bloody shirt in the wash. Or a gun, tucked away, forgotten in a drawer. Or how a bike sits outside her house, a prospect watching, protecting, guarding. Or Abel will play with toy motorcycles, making them chase each other, explaining that he's being daddy. Or Gemma will call with the order to drop everything, come to club house. Or someone will get shot and she'll dig the bullet out like other people pull out splinters. Or she'll get death threats.

And it's enough to erase her sleepy Wednesday mornings and any sense of normalcy she's ever had.

* * *

 _Observing surgery_

"Aren't you nervous?" A nurse asks Tara as she scrubs in.

"For?" Tara is focused on getting her gloves on and is mentally reviewing the surgery in her head.

"Well, everyone's watching." The nurse mutters and Tara glances out of the corner of her eyes to the cluster of older men and women that has gathered around the viewing window to the surgery room.

"Oh." She says quietly and the nurse gasps.

"They didn't tell you that people would be coming?" She demands and Tara shrugs. She doesn't want to admit that if a note was dropped on her desk, she probably ignored it. Staff meeting suddenly seem less important when there's death threats on her head and she's not sure if Jax will come home at night.

"Who are they?" She asks curiously and the nurse frets.

"The CEO of the hospital and a bunch of investors. They're thinking about growing the surgical wing and if they can get enough money for it." She shakes her head. "But they want to see what we can do apparently."

"Well then." Tara takes a deep breath and wiggles her fingers. "Let's show them then." She walks into surgery, making sure her team sees her calm, controlled demeanor. She glances around the room and sees that a couple people are glancing towards the window. "Hey." She says sharply.

"Yes Dr. Knowles?" The nurse asks, looking at her a little guiltily, like she knows she's done wrong.

"Eyes on me." Tara says quietly. "What we do in this room will not and can not be changed by those people out there. We are not doing anything for them, do you understand that? They are supremely unimportant. Do you know who is important?"

"The patient?" Someone guesses and Tara nods.

"The patient is the most important person. Her, her parents, her family, the people in the waiting room, not the people on the otherwise of that glass. We are not doing anything for them. Forget they are there. We are doing this for her." She makes sure to look everyone in the eye. "So breathe. Focus. We've got work to do."

When surgery is done and the little girl is recovering, Tara carefully peels off her gloves and discards them, the excitement of a successful surgery making her feel giddy. She walks out of surgery, beaming at her team, when she gets stopped.

"Dr. Knowles." The CEO, a balding man with a bad combover and an air of self-importance, catches her arm. "Nice work in there."

"Oh, thank you." She says, slightly caught off guard. "I have a great team behind me though."

"You do wonderful work." Another man comments and she bows her head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Dr. Knowles is one of our most successful surgeons." The CEO boasts and while the investors mummer praise, she has the wild urge to ask how many of them know who she really is.

"You certainly do well with a crowd watching." A woman compliments and Tara smiles. "Were you at a teaching hospital previously?"

"Oh." She blinks at the question, unsure of how to lie. "Um, sort of. Surgery, you know, it's always evolving, you have to learn from each other and…" She prattles on for awhile longer, before the CEO releases her arm and shuffles the group towards the NICU. Tara exhales.

Teaching hospital sounds so much better than explaining that having investors watch her help underdeveloped lungs is far easier than removing slugs from a drug kingpin as his underlings wait to kill her if she were to make a mistake.

* * *

 _The boys playing with the boys_

"No, no, no!" Abel yells and Tig freezes, looking at him. "This way." Abel orders and gestures for Tig to push the truck this way.

"I thought we had to go that way." Tig says, gesturing to under the pool table. Abel shakes his head. "Alright, well you're the boss." Tig follows Abel towards the couch, crawling across the floor.

"Beep, beep, beep." Abel says quietly, backing his own truck up. Then he looks imploringly at Tig.

"Beep, beep, beep?" Tig tries and Abel seems satisfied with this, making noises are he drives his trucks around. Tara pauses and hands Tig a beer. He takes a grateful drink, before Abel crashes his truck into Tig's. Tig lowers the drink and raises an eyebrow at the young boy.

"Uh oh." When Abel's blue eyes are sparkling with mischief, his resemblance to Jax is uncanny.

"Oh no, did we crash?" Tig demands and Abel nods before crashing into him again.

"Abel, be good with your toys." Tara orders without looking at them. Abel looks at Tig with big eyes and Tig glances at Tara's back, then crashes his truck into Abel's, making the little boy laugh in delight.

"What happens when cars crash?" He asks Abel, who abandons his trucks for a motorcycle near the bar.

"Boom!" Abel yells and Tig nods seriously.

"Tig." Tara's mother tone of voice makes Tig look up guiltily. "Are you teaching him to crash things?"

"No." He says, too quickly and Tara raises an eyebrow, amused.

"Abel." Tara turns to her son with her hands on her hips. "If you're going to be loud then go outside." Abel obediently stands, holding his hand out to Tig. Tig picks up his toys and takes his hand, following him out the door.

"Well look who's awake." Bobby picks Thomas up from his carrier, the little boy looking around with sleepy eyes. "Hi little man."

"Can you watch him for a second?" Tara requests and Bobby nods easily, sinking into the couch with the baby. He picks up a stuffed monkey and dangles him in front of Thomas. With a happy babble, Thomas reaches for it and proceeds to chew on the ear.

"So like I was saying, it makes no sense." Bobby comments to Piney, helping Thomas to stand on his knees so he can bounce up and down.

"I'm not disagreeing." Piney says seriously, but it's offset slightly but the fact that he's clutching a stuffed caterpillar. They're still discussing drugs and muling when Thomas suddenly lets out a wail and Bobby, with a well practiced air, sniff at Thomas's backside.

"He needs a change." He says easily, getting up and setting Thomas on his hip. He rummages through Tara's diaper bag, grabbing supplies and heading to the dorm room. A few minutes later he's back with a happy baby.

"How's he doing?" Gemma asks, walking into the clubhouse and stooping to kiss Thomas's head.

"Happy and mellow like he always is." Bobby reports and Gemma nods in satisfaction.

"Well Abel's out there trying to kill Tig, someone better take over for him soon." She seems amused by this revelation.

"I'll do it." Phil offers, leaving from behind the bar and walking outside.

"You know," Gemma says slowly. "He is so good with kids, I don't see why he doesn't have his own. Who's his woman?" She looks around the suddenly mute men. "Anyone?"

"Aren't you satisfied with your own grandkids?" Piney asks and Gemma rolls her eyes.

"I'm just trying to make people happy old man." She states and he simply raises an eyebrow back. She scoops up Thomas from Bobby, cooing at him as Tig walks back in, sweating profusely.

"Make me a drink." He orders the prospect, who scrambles to grab vodka. "Man, that kid can move."

"He's quick." Gemma agrees, smiling. "Full of energy and life."

"C'mon little man." Tig takes a fussing Thomas from Gemma. "Let's go take a nap. No one wonder you need naps so often, if you have to live with that tornado."

 **AN:** Ok I am sorry this is short but I have reasons- 1) I was traveling for work and wrote that in a creepy hotel room and 2) every moment I wasn't traveling or working I was shamelessly watching Sense8 on Netflix. Go watch the german Jax Teller and try not to fall in love. Or you know, leave me a review.


	47. Season 4- Family Recipe

_Juice's Suicide_

Actually no, I'm not trying to make myself cry yet

* * *

 _Babysitting with guns_

"Play!" Abel's yell wakes Rat up and he blinks a couple times, taking stock of the little boy in front of him. He knows, from past experience, he is not a patient child, nor is he scared of anyone but his mother.

"Sleeping." He tries to close his eyes, hoping that Abel will comprehend the meaning. There's a long moment of quiet and Rat cracks an eye in disbelief, wondering how that possibly could've worked. He doesn't have more than a second to react to a car being thrown at his head.

"Play!" Abel demands again and Rat rubs his smarting forehead in amazement, staring at the boy. He's got a good arm, he'll give him that.

"Abel." Tara comes around the corner, stern. "Did you just throw your toy at Rat?" Thomas is perched on her hip, still sleepy from his nap.

"No." Abel's lower lip juts out and he looks ready to throw another temper tantrum.

"Rat, did Abel throw his toy at you?" Tara turns to look at him and he straightens up instantly. She reminds him of Gemma and he scrambles to obey.

"Um…" He looks between the little boy and Tara, unsure of who deserves his loyalty. On one hand, Abel did throw the toy and he really doesn't want to lie to Tara, especially when she's got her scary mom voice on. On the other hand, he doesn't want the little boy to get in trouble. "Yes?"

"Well, that's what you get for sleeping on the job." Tara states, sweeping through the living room. "Abel, do not throw your toys at Rat or you'll get a timeout, yes?"

"Wanted to play." Abel grumbles and Tara turns, arching an eyebrow.

"Then play nice or get a timeout." She offers and he seems to think it over, picking up the after mentioned car and offering it to Rat. Rat looks at the toy then at Tara.

"Should I…" He trails off and she pauses in making a bottle for Thomas to look at him impatiently.

"Play cars with him? Yes please, unless you mean to take him outside and teach him to shoot that." Her sharp vision falls on the gun next to the couch and disgust is written on her face. Rat knows better than to push this subject, so he takes the car instead and slides to the floor.

After Tara's made them lunch Abel starts pestering her to go to the park. She tries to stall him, distract him with TV, movies, games, books, toys, anything, but Abel is adamant and stubborn as hell. Tara finally glances at Rat.

"I mean, would Jax be ok with it?" He asks nervously and Tara rolls her eyes.

"Call and ask your mother for permission then." Her tone is only slightly mocking. "But if we don't go, you get to be the one to explain to Abel we're not going. And you can occupy him until Jax gets home."

"To the park then." He relents and Abel cheers, running for the door. Tara smiles at least at that and follows. They sit at the park, Abel running around in glee, Rat chasing after him. Tara sits on a blanket with Thomas, cooing him and keeping him occupied.

"Mama!" Abel yells from atop the playground and Tara laughs, waving.

"Hi sweet boy." She calls and he goes to swing. Rat takes the chance to collapse next to her, out of breath.

"Who's he get the energy from, you or Jax?" He groans loudly and Tara doesn't bother to correct him.

"That is all his father." Tara mutters, watching as Abel swings higher and higher, beaming. "Jax says we got the names mixed up, that Abel should've been named after his brother because of how busy he is and how relaxed Thomas is."

"Yeah, he's pretty mellow." Rat smiles, reaching down and playing with Thomas's toes.

"Mhmm." Tara agrees noncommittally, kissing the top of Thomas's head while watching Abel. He's still swinging, beaming. At the sound of a passing motorcycle, she and Rat both tense, swinging their heads around for the source of the noise. It's a fat old man on a shiny red bike, beer gut hanging out of his camo shirt. Not a biker, just a hobbyist. Tara relaxes her grip on Thomas momentarily and spots the gun Rat has pulled out.

"Mama." Abel has stopped swinging and come running. "Was that daddy?"

"No sweet boy." Tara tries to keep Abel's eyes on her while Rat scrambles to hide the gun before Abel sees it. "But he'll be home soon. Should we go home and see if he's there?"

"Yeah!" Abel shouts and dashes to the car. Rat follows and Tara straps Thomas into his carrier, hands trembling the entire way. She shakes out the blanket and tosses it over her shoulder.

"I'll follow you home." Rat says lowly as she buckles Abel in and she nods, not sure of what words will come out of her mouth if she opens it. She drives home, listening distractedly to Abel's chatter. She sighs in relief when they pull into the driveway and Jax's bike is indeed in the driveway.

"Daddy!" Abel races into the house, throwing himself in Jax's arms.

"Hi little buddy!" Jax catches Abel and stands, hugging him close. "Oh hi, I have missed you." Tara passes him Thomas too, kissing his cheek.

"Hi babe." She says quietly.

"What did you two do today?" Jax asks, looking between his boys in interest.

"Played and had mac and cheese and watched Thomas the Train." Abel lists off. "And went to the park!"

"The park?" Jax pretends to be shocked. "Was that fun?"

"Yeah." Abel grins, eating his father's cheek. "I like Rat!"

"I like you too little dude." Rat says, smiling as he backs out the front door. "Phil's up next, call him if you need anything." He tells Jax, who nods seriously.

"Alright, c'mon, daddy's hungry. Should we get pizza for supper?" Jax offers and Abel cheers. Tara walks into the living room, straightening up Abel's toys. She stops when she finds a tiny water pistol, painted silver to look more real. She remembers Rat asleep with a gun in hand and her stomach drops out. With a grim twist of the mouth, she throws it in the garbage, then goes to make Thomas a bottle.

* * *

 _Thomas's blue eyes_

He's always had the prettiest eyes and the easiest smile. Abel called him pretty boy when he was young, though the insult was a little hollow since Abel so closely resembled him. Thomas though, his eyes are a little brighter, a little bluer, and a little more playful.

They both have their father's eyes, he and his brother. Blue eyes and blond hair. Teller boys. But Abel has his mother's smile and some her mannerisms, like when they're anger.

Thomas has no one to search for himself in, save the pictures scattered around their house and the few stories Wendy will tell them. But he's not like Abel. He doesn't need to know. He's not desperate to figure things out like his big brother. He has his father's eyes and that is enough.

He's always been complimented on them. The girls that giggle when he walks by, they always sigh over his big blue eyes. People ask who he gets them from- he always smiles easily and tells them his father. They'll glance at Wendy and see her brown and nod. He's stopped correcting them a long time ago.

But then he goes home to place where no one needs to ask about his bright blue eyes.

"Mom." He's tagging after his mother, aware from the set of her shoulders how on edge she is. "What's happening? Is Abel ok?"

"He's ok." Wendy is looking around and she extends her backwards so he can grab it. "Abel's ok, we just… I need to make sure he's safe."

"That makes me feel like he's not ok." Thomas comments and Wendy is standing outside large gates. Thomas looks up at them in interest but Wendy is already pulling him through a small opening and into the compound.

There's Harley's everywhere and he sees Abel's in the midst of them but Wendy is still dragging him into large building. He has to blink to adjust his vision to the change in brightness but his eyes adjust and he can take it in.

It's got a bar, mug shots on the wall, pool table, couches, tables, chairs, TVs, and most importantly, a row of men that are looking at him in awe. He straightens up to his full height, which admittedly isn't much, but it's enough to look some of them in the eye.

"Where's Abel?" Wendy doesn't bother with the preamble; she cuts straight to the chase. A man with scars and grey hair tears his eyes off Thomas and walks up to her, grabbing her shoulders.

"He's washin' up." He's got a deep brogue and Wendy nods, still looking nervous. Thomas notices that everyone is looking at him, curiously and strangely. He's not sure what to make of it. No one has ever stared like this, not even the time he scored 5 straight goals at a game.

"Thomas." A dark skinned man calls and he glances at him.

"Yeah?"

"Anyone ever told you that you have your father's eyes?" He asks and Thomas glances at his mother, who is avoiding his gaze.

"Um, not really, no." He admits slowly. "Usually they just tell me how much I look like Abel."

"He doesn't have Jax's eyes." A man with bright blue eyes and curly grey hair is clenching his bottle tightly. "Abel has Jax's eyes. Thomas, you have your uncle Tommy's eyes." Wendy goes to him, touching his arm and talking quietly. Before Thomas can ask what that means, his brother walks out with a thin girl with big eyes and all the attention is off of Thomas's blue eyes and back to Abel.

* * *

 _Piney and Opie_

Opie doesn't remember the first time his father told him he was proud of him. It couldn't have been when he was young, because Opie is sure that he'd never done anything to make his father proud then. Piney wasn't the kind of parent to be swayed into pride by a perfect spelling test or by learning fractions. He didn't attend sporting events or conferences.

He didn't say it when Opie got his bike. He made a face, shelled out some cash, watched as Opie picked out his bike with an indifferent expression, crossed his arms and nodded once when Opie looked for his approval. He didn't say it when Opie drove away.

Opie can't remember if he said it when he patched in. He remembers Clay saying it, how Jax had drank in those words, needing reassurance after he'd nearly walked away with Tara. Opie remembers everyone else saying it, but did his father? Or did he simply nod and walk away?

He didn't say it when Opie married Donna. He reminded Opie that he was out of his league, that Donna was a catch and he didn't deserve her. Opie was inclined to agree. He didn't even say it when his two children were born. He saved that for Donna, exhausted with her baby in her arms, his eyes sparkling as he kissed her forehead and told her how good she did.

Opie's not sure who's fault it is, his or his father's, that Opie doesn't know if his father is proud of him or not. Has he never done anything to make his father proud? Or is it that Piney is simply not able to express himself that way, must keep everything bottled up tight?

But it doesn't matter, because Opie knows. He knows that his father is proud of him, despite the fact that he doesn't remember hearing those four words ever growing up. He accepts that this is his father, this is his way. Piney doesn't need to say it, because Opie knows it.

He knows in the way that he nods his head when Opie puts the club first. When he loves his family better than Piney did. When he refuses to make his father's mistakes. When he stands up for his beliefs. When he is a good son and a good Son. Opie knows.

Piney is proud of him, when he pats Opie's cheek and doesn't say the words. Opie knows, and for him, that's enough.

 **AN:** Sorry this is a day late, celebrating Thanksgiving! Also celebrating that we're halfway through! Halfway done! Downward slide, whoo! Here's a fun little note for you all, this is what my notes said on this episode- "How many of the first nine are murdered by clay like seriously a quarter". And with that, I ask that you review, because I am extra thankful for those.


	48. Season 4- Kiss

Episode 9: Kiss

 _Differences in their kuttes_

When you wear something everyday, it becomes a part of you. It becomes something that is completely yours. You begin to feel naked without out it. So it's only fitting that after time, this item begins to take on elements of yourself.

Piney's kutte is denim, for reasons that have kind of been left vague. It's become a sort of urban legend in club lore, that they were too poor in the beginning to afford a bunch of leather, so Piney drew the short straw and got denim. Others say it's because he hated the feel of leather. Others yet proclaim it's because he felt it gave him a more '70's' vibe. Jax and Opie asked once, when they were little. He told them it was because it had more pockets.

Bobby's kutte has little designs along the edges for no reason other than he saw it at a rally and thought it looked cool. The guys of the club gave him shit as he sewed it on, calling him girly. Bobby didn't care. It made him different, it made him stand out. And he's proud of that.

Clay's kutte carries little reminders on it- how he got his Men of Mayhem patch, the paratrooper pin that commemorates his time overseas, the Redwood Original that signifies that he came to Charming and he will never leave. However, the most important thing on his kutte is the president patch. He fought for the patch, killed for it, bled for it. It is his life's work, it is his power, his destiny, his calling. The day he put the reaper on his back was a great day, but the day he sewed that president patch on was the best day.

Juice's kutte is still stiff. It's only been on his back a couple years, versus decades on the others. He takes painstaking care of it, making sure that he doesn't leave it crumpled on the floor. It's more than a piece of leather to him, it's a purpose and family and his life. He dreams about all the patches he'll add to it. He doesn't think to wonder what they will cost him.

Jax's kutte is comfy. It's well worn. It has the familiarity of a favorite teeshirt or a blanket from childhood. It sits just right on him. The kutte isn't so much Jax's as Jax is the kutte. He's the youngest VP to ever sit at the table, he got the Men of Mayhem patch the quickest, all of it. But the sickles on his collar, those are special. One for John, one for Thomas. For the people that the Reaper has already taken, and to remind him that everything in life may change, but the Reaper won't.

* * *

 _Why you can't commit suicide "Sons don't kill themselves."_

Weakness. It's a trait reviled in Sons. A lot of insults are thrown around the club- bitch, ass, cunt, dick, jackass, fuckhead, whatever. Pick your poison. None is as bad as weak. Weak is an attack on your character, who you are.

The Sons are not weak. The whole club was founded, built on the notion that those 9 men were stronger than most, braver than most, that they were different from the others. That's why they needed to stick with each other, because the rest of society didn't give a damn.

Weakness comes in all different forms- it might be not stomaching that fifth shot of tequila. It might be letting a crow eater run your life. It might be backing out of a bet or dare. It's tears, it's pain, it's grief and anguish. The Sons do not show weakness. And Sons don't kill themselves.

Suicide is the ultimate weakness, it always has been. It's the public and final declaration that you can't handle this life, can't handle what the kutte requires. It is shameful and weak and everything a Son is not.

Any other way is fine. An overdose, well at least you died happy. By gunfire, well at least you died brave. A crash, well at least you died doing what you love. If you die for the club, you get a funeral with crowds of kuttes, with a motorcade to rival a fallen hero, and a legend of your own in the club.

But don't end your own life. It'll strip you of your kutte, of your family, of your legacy. Anything you worked for in life will be gone. Your family will be shunned, will be snubbed. You will be erased, scratched out of photos, forgotten. Your name will not be spoken.

Don't kill yourself. It's a simple task. Don't be weak. Take your hurts. Bear the weight of what you've done, and do it until the end. The Reaper will take you, you cannot go to the Reaper. Because that would be weakness. And the Sons are not weak.

* * *

 _Gemma finding Piney's body "I told you, you stupid old man!"_

Piney. Oh, Piney… Oh, god. Oh my god. Piney.

You old bastard, what did you do? Why couldn't you just leave things damn well alone like you should have? Why did you have to be so damn loyal, and to John of all people?

You stubborn bastard. You just couldn't see what was coming. You were so set in your goddamn ways. The world was changing and you turned a blind eye to it.

God, so many of us gone. How far have we come? The days when it was you and John, in your prime… Why didn't you just let sleeping dogs lie? You knew Clay, you knew how much he loves this club.

You knew he would do this. Did you think he wouldn't because it's you? Because you were first 9 that you'd be protected? You and I know best that Clay is ruthless, is merciless. You should have seen this coming!

No, no, you couldn't. You were so self-righteous. Look where your justice got you now Piney. Dead, dead at the hand of one of your best friend, all because you had to go digging up the past. Why? Why?

You knew this would kill Jax. You knew what those letters would do! How dare you? How dare anyone? Those letters are meant to be destroyed, to be burned! They are a poison and they kill everyone they touch! Why couldn't you see that?

Oh Piney… How am I going to tell your son? How am I going to tell your grandkids? How am I going to tell Mary? Why does everyone I love die bloody? Why, why couldn't you just…

Goddamnit Clay. God fucking damnit. You couldn't let me handle it. You idiot. Now I have to clean up this mess. You try to fight fire with fire, hide death by killing more.

He was your friend! He was your longest friend! You couldn't spare a bit of rationality to see that Piney already had one foot in the grave? We would've been fine. I could've fixed this. But now…

Piney.

At least you're with John.

* * *

 _Tara realizing they have to get out_

"Mama!" Abel is wailing and Tara carefully picks up Thomas, walking over to the side of the park that Abel is on. He's perched beneath a slide, knees to chest, eyes glistening with tears.

"Abel, what's wrong?" Tara kneels, brushing back his hair, looking at him in concern.

"Big kids are mean." He grumbles, swiping angrily at his wet cheeks.

"C'mon." Tara gently helps him up, pulling him close to her. "Let's go have a snack." She guides him back to where she was playing with Thomas and reading. He takes the grapes she offers and that at least seems to calm him somewhat.

"What's wrong Abel?" Phil is perched on the bench by them, looking at Abel with concern.

"Big kids were mean." Tara reveals, absentmindedly flipping through the medical journal she had been reading.

"To you?" Phil asks and Abel nods, eating another grape. "Want me to go beat them up?" He offers and that gets a smile out of Abel.

"Phil." Tara admonishes and he looks at her with wide eyes. "Don't teach him that. Don't teach him that violence will solve things."

"Yes ma'am." Phil ducks his head and focuses on cutting up an apple for Abel. As her boys babble, Tara pretends to be reading so she won't have to meet Phil's eyes.

She knows it was a joke. He was just teasing, trying to make Abel laugh and feel better. If Aleta had said it she would've laughed. It would've been funny. But when someone in a kutte says it, it makes Tara's blood run cold.

It's not funny when they could, and would, follow through. She has no doubt that if Abel wished it, if he expressed any displease or anger at something, that Jax would make the club move heaven and earth to please him. Not that she wouldn't. She'd do anything for her boys. But she wouldn't do it with guns blazing and fists flying.

"Alright, I think we've had enough." She announces, putting the journal back in her bag and hoisting Thomas up. Abel protests, as he always does, but Tara promises that they'll get a treat when she gets groceries. Phil carries him to the car, pretending to fly him. Abel's giggle is music to her ears and by the time they walk into the grocery store, Phil trailing behind them, she's smiling again.

"Anything I can grab?" Phil asks and Tara consults her list, looking between the groceries and household items.

"Do you know what kind of diapers Thomas wears?" She raises an eyebrow and Phil hides a small smile.

"Yes ma'am."

"Alright, then you run and grab this stuff." She hands him Thomas and the list of supplies, cleaners, and other items. He takes it and a cart, veering off.

"Ice cream." Abel points to the frozen section and Tara fights back a smile. A boy after her own heart.

"Yes, we'll get that after, ok?" She promises. "First, we need to get some milk…" She's wandering down the aisles, trying to recall if they have enough lasagna noodles to make it this week, when a woman behind her gasps.

"Oh, your son." Tara turns to see the woman, automatically placing herself between Abel and the woman. She's tall, with long red hair and a copious amount of eye makeup, wearing a tight black dress and clunky boots. "He is adorable."

"Thank you." Tara moves aside slightly, feeling ridiculous for being suspicious in a grocery store. The woman moves to smile at Abel, wiggling her fingers.

"Hi." Abel says happily and Tara smiles at her extroverted child.

"Hello." She's smiling at him brightly. "You look so much like your father, yes you do."

"Oh, you know Jax?" Tara tries to hide the hardness in her tone of voice, resisting the urge grab Abel and run.

"Yeah." The woman glances up from Abel and smiles, extending her hand. "Tasha, I've known Gemma for ages."

"Oh, how nice." Tara says politely, wondering what she wants.

"And you are just the most handsome boy." She's already got her attention back on Abel. "How old are you?"

"Three!" Abel says, grinning. Tasha continues to talk to Abel while Tara stands to the side and watches, trying to keep a smile on her face.

"You be good for your mama you hear?" Tasha orders Abel, who nods seriously. She straightens up and glances at Tara. "He does look just like Jax." She says and Tara nods, moving to smooth Abel's hair.

"He's a handsome boy." She says quietly and Tasha nods, satisfied.

"Charming's handsome little prince." With another little wave, Tasha pushes her cart around the corner but Tara is frozen in her spot, the words echoing around in her skull. Abel. The next prince. Charming's prince.

Part of her knew, logically, that this would happen. But she always hated when Jax was called that in their youth. It felt so final, so demanding, so… Ominous. It hovered over them and their future and in the end, he chose his kingdom over her.

Abel cannot be the next prince. Princes must lose their fathers to become kings. Her blood runs cold at the thought of Jax following in his father's footsteps, of Abel following in Jax's, of the wheel of destiny turning, turning, turning…

"Mama?" Abel's voice startles her out of her thoughts. "Ice cream?"

"Yes sweet boy." She presses a kiss to his forehead. "We can get ice cream." As she pushes their full cart to meet Phil and Thomas at the register, she wishes for nothing more than the ability to gather her sons in her arms and run to where no one knows their royal blood.

* * *

 _"Doctor's pussy's clouding who you are son."_

"Jax." Clay's voice stops him before he can get out of the stop and Jax cringes, slowing down and turning. Clay raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah?" Jax asks with faux innocence.

"Where you headed?" Clay tosses his greasy rag over his shoulder and leans against a lift.

"Well, it's 3:30." Jax glances at the clock on the wall. "And I worked through lunch so I figured it'd be fine if I left a little early."

"Sure." Clay has a knowing smirk on his face and Jax shifts impatiently. He just wants to be curled up under the blankets with her. He's been daydreaming about this since he dragged himself out of bed this morning and came into work.

"Ok, bye!" Jax tries to duck out again.

"Jackson." Clay calls him back with ease and Jax surpasses a groan, turning and raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Where you headed?" Clay repeats and Jax grits his teeth for a moment before reminding himself that he's an adult and even in Clay is his stepfather, he has no right to tell him what to do. Besides, this is his normal routine.

"Tara's." He says easily, with a nonchalant shrug.

"Should I tell your mother you won't be home for supper?" Clay offers and Jax shrugs.

"Sure, thanks." Again, he tries to leave.

"She'll be mad." Clay declares and Jax turns, ready to defend his girlfriend for the millionth time from his mother. "Because I'm not coming home either." Clay tosses his rag onto the counter. "C'mon, there's club shit."

"What kind of club shit?" Jax asks, grabbing his prospect kutte from a hook on the wall and slinging it on over his dirty work clothes.

"Call Opie." Clay orders and Jax ducks into the office, grabbing the phone. He knows Opie's home phone number by heart, waiting impatiently for his best friend to pick up.

"Hey, club shit." He doesn't bother with a greeting.

"On my way." Opie hangs up and Jax glances out into the courtyard of the clubhouse as a couple bikes roll in. Then he dials Tara's number.

"Hello?" She sounds happy. He can about imagine her sunny smile.

"Hi babe." He can't help but smile.

"Jax. Where are you? Usually you're here when I get home." Tara doesn't sound too concerned, just a little disappointed. "I was just about to hop into the shower." Jax's hand tightens on the edge of the desk.

"I, uh," He swallows so he doesn't sound so strangled. "Um, I gotta stay at work just a little longer."

"I thought you were going to work through lunch." Tara is frowning now, he can tell.

"I know, but we have a ton of stuff to get done." He lies through his teeth. He knows if Tara finds out he's there for the club, she'll hang up on him without batting an eye.

"Well work hard then." She sighs. "I guess I'll shower alone and get some homework done."

"I love you." He tells her and he means it.

"I love you too." She says sweetly.

"Prospect!" Clay bellows.

"Gotta go, bye." Jax hangs up the phone and walks out of the office, smiling. "Yeah pres?"

"Opie coming?" Clay asks as the pair of them walk into the clubhouse.

"On his way." Jax reassures him, walking behind the bar and grabbing beers, opening them with ease. "How long is this going to take?"

"Why, got a hot date?" Clay questions, taking a beer from Jax.

"The hottest." Jax jokes and knows to drop it at that. Clay snorts in amusement, shrugs, and walks into church. Jax stays at the pair, sliding beers to whoever walks in. A couple minutes later Opie joins him and the two of them speculate what might be going on when the heavy wooden doors close. They're not kept waiting for more than 15 minutes, when the club streams back out and Clay informs them they'll be lookouts for this mission.

"Tara know where you're at?" Opie asks, as they sit on their bikes and watch as the sun gets closer and closer to kissing the horizon.

"Thinks I'm at work." Jax admits, smoking a cigarette absentmindedly. "Though the longer we sit here, the more I'm thinking I'm going to have to make up a story about getting in a fight with my mother or something. Donna?"

"Knows I'm with my dad." Opie explains, stomping out his own cigarette. "Not much more than that."

"Shit." Jax sighs and rubs his face. "I have no idea how to do this."

"Balance the two?" Opie guess and Jax nods.

"Simple." Clay is walking out of the warehouse, pulling his gloves on. "Club always come first boys. Doesn't matter how good that pussy is, don't forget that SAMCRO is your calling."

Jax ponders these words as he drives to Tara's house, the sunset coloring everything golden. He takes off his kutte and shoes when he walks in, noticing that he has grease and dirt covering his hands. He washes them in the kitchen sink and when he shuts the sink off, Tara is in the kitchen, arms folded.

"Hi babe." Jax tries to sound offhand, but Tara doesn't fall for it.

"Where were you?" She demands without preamble and he flinches.

"Work." He tries and Tara rolls her eyes, storming back to her room.

"I'm not an idiot!" She yells, slamming the door.

"I know that." Jax slumps tiredly against the wall in the hallway, too tired to fight.

"Then why do you think you can blatantly lie to me?" Tara sounds like she's throwing shit so Jax just puts his head in his hands and wonders if he should've just told Clay no.

 **AN:** It's a cold and dreary day here- leave reviews to brighten it up?


	49. Season 4- Hands

_Jax in another life/if he'd gotten out_

A cry splits the air. It's a wail to stop traffic, to strike the fear of God into any man. It's of terror, of horror, of murder. It would send even the bravest man running. A hair raising kind of cry. And all Jax Teller does at the sound of this noise is roll over and nudge his wife.

"She's all yours." He mutters and Tara groans loudly, throwing an arm over her eyes.

"I got her last time." She insists and he shakes his head.

"Nope, last time was the blowout and I got that one." He states, not bothering to open his eyes.

"I birthed her." Tara plays her trump card and so with a groan, he gets out of bed and pads down the hallway, eyes not quite open.

"Why the fuss, why the fuss?" He mummers, reaching into the crib and scooping up the little girl. She stops her banshee shrieks and settles into fussing for her father so Jax begins to sway, checking her diaper. She's not wet, she's not dirty, ad she's not hungry- Tara had nursed her less than two hours ago if his bleary eyes are reading the clock correctly. Still, she's fussing.

"Daddy?" Jax turns and sees Abel standing in the doorway, his hair comically standing straight up.

"Hey buddy, did she wake you up?" Jax says gently and Abel nods, rubbing one eye. "I'm sorry, go back to sleep."

"Is she sad?" Abel asks, walking over and peering at his baby sister in his father's arms.

"No, I just think she's not very sleepy." Jax says with a wry smile. "Or maybe she just missed her big brother."

"I missed you too, Gracie." Abel mutters to his sister. Jax sits down on the couch and Abel crawls up next to him, gazing down at the little girl. "Why does she sleep in the day but not at night?"

"Babies are silly that way." Jax says, as Gracelyn calms down and contentedly sucks on her pacifier, staring at Abel. He begins to make silly faces, making the corners of her mouth twitch up. "They get night and day mixed up."

"Daddy." Abel looks up at him seriously. "Is Gracie a werewolf?"

"Is she a what?" Jax tilts his head, thinking he's misheard him.

"A werewolf." Abel repeats as if it should be obvious and Jax blinks a couple times, his sleep deprived brain trying to answer the question.

"Why would you think that buddy?" He asks, giving up.

"Cause werewolves sleep in the day and are up at night." Abel explains, as though this should be obvious and Jax can find no flaw in his son's logic so he just nods dumbly. Satisfied, Abel brushes Gracelyn's hair back.

"I spy with my little eye a boy who should be in bed." Tara's voice is teasing and both boys look up. She's standing in the doorway, a robe wrapped around her slender form and her arms crossed, a smile on her face.

"Mama." Abel says happily. "Did you know Gracie is a werewolf?"

"A what?" Tara frowns slightly, coming to join them on the couch and looking at her daughter.

"A werewolf." Abel repeats and Tara glances over his head at Jax, who just shrugs.

"Oh." Tara says, stroking Gracelyn's cheek with one finger. "I did not."

"Cause she sleeps in the day and not at night." He explains and Tara raises an eyebrow.

"You're not sleeping at night. Does that make you a werewolf?" She points out and Abel looks at her, giggling.

"No, silly mama!"

"You're my silly boy." She pulls him close and kisses the top of his head. "I think all my silly babies need to go to bed."

"Can we sleep with you tonight?" Abel mutters and Tara glances at Jax. He shrugs, hiding a smile.

"Who's we?" Tara questions and he gives his best imitation of an innocent little gesture.

"Me and Gracie and Tommy."

"Are you going to go wake up Tommy?" Tara folds her arms and Abel glances between his two parents.

"Daddy could carry him." He suggests.

"You get these two settled, I'll go get little man." He says lowly, passing the baby to her.

"C'mon on then mister Abel." Tara stands and offers her hand to Abel. "Let's go to bed."

"Yay!" Abel follows Tara and Jax creeps to Thomas's room, gently pushing the door open. Thomas is fast asleep in his little bed, splayed out among baseball and racing car pillows. Jax carefully picks up his sons small frame, wondering when his little baby got so big. He cradles him close and carries him to his bedroom.

"Don't wake up your brother." Tara warns Abel, situating Gracelyn in her old side along bassinet.

"I won't." He whispers and Jax lays Thomas next to Abel. Abel beams, snuggling into the covers. Jax climbs under the blankets and glances across his sons at Tara, who is carefully placing her arm over Abel. The little boy is already half asleep, his lips still turned up in a smile. Tara catches his eye and they look at their little family.

"I love you so much." Jax mouthes and she presses a kiss to Abel's head.

"I love you more." She mouthes back and grinning, the two of them lie down, the Teller family safe and sound, sleeping in a kingsized bed.

* * *

 _Juice's old girlfriend_

"Mariah." Her abuela's voice rings out loud and clear. As she wanders down the stairs, Mariah wonders to herself how such a frail and weak old woman can have such a strong voice.

"Si, abuela." She calls, stopping in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and two sugar cookies. Usually that fixes most problems. "Que necessita?"

"La television." Her grandmother mutters, gesturing to the grainy tv. Mariah watches for a long moment as a dramatic Spanish soap opera plays out, setting the water and cookies on the table beside the rocking chair.

"Si, abuela." She says unsurely, not sure what the problem is.

"Donde esta mi programa?" Her grandmother snaps and Mariah glances back at the tv, not sure which of her grandmothers many soaps she's asking for.

"Cual programa?" She questions and her grandmother frowns deeply.

"Con Hernando y Lolita." Her grandmother explains and Mariah turns, pretending to study the tv so her grandmother doesn't see her trying to recall which show has those characters.

"Abuela, pienso qui ese programa termino." She says slowly and her grandmother blinks, then waves a hand, shooing her away with grumbles about a stupid child not knowing anything. Mariah takes the chance to escape back upstairs, locking her door so that her grandmother's yells will be muffled. She picks up her phone, grinning at the sight of a text.

need u

Whats wrong?

bad day can i come over

Sure but abuela is in a bad mood so you need to sneak in.

c u in 10

She tosses her phone aside, sitting on her bed for a moment, pondering what could be wrong. Her sometimes boyfriend hardly ever texts her. He prefers to show up spontaneously, coaxing her out of her bedroom window or sometimes picking the lock to get in, tiptoeing past her sleeping grandmother.

She doesn't have to wait long before a rumble on the street alerts her to his presence. She sneaks back downstairs, glancing to make sure her grandmother is sleeping before unlocking the door. A moment later, a dark figure slips through and gently shuts the door behind him. Without words, they both creep upstairs. Once they're back in her bedroom she shuts the door and turns to beam at him.

"Hi." She says, a little breathlessly and he pulls her in for a hard kiss, tangling his fingers in her hair. They don't speak as they sink down onto her bed, tugging at bras and kuttes as they go.

"Sorry." He mutters when they're done. He's lying on her chest, arms wrapped around her tightly, as she gently scratches the mohawk atop his head.

"For what?" She asks him and he shrugs.

"Doing this."

"What's this?" She asks cautiously. She's made the mistake before of trying to claim Juice as her boyfriend. It was a mistake.

"This." He gives her a tiny squeeze. "I shouldn't just show up unannounced at your place."

"I don't mind it." She reassures him. "It gives me something to do besides take care of Abuela."

"Still." He whispers and she keeps scratching his head. For awhile they're quiet, until she can't hold her question back any longer.

"What happened today?"

"What do you mean?" He asks, without meeting her eyes.

"You said in your text that it was a bad day." She reminds him carefully.

"Oh." He's silent, so she scrambles to cover her tracks.

"If you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine, that's alright, I just thought I'd-"

"Club shit." He explains, cutting her off and she pauses, wondering just how much she should ask.

She loves him. She has since the day they met, when she was nothing but a scrawny teenager, thinking she was so cool for sneaking into a bar. He'd taken one look at her, laughed, and bought her a drink for being ballsy. From that moment on, she'd been in love with his laughter, his sparkling eyes, his eager smile. She didn't care that her friends thought she was crazy or that if her grandmother knew what she was up to, she'd be shot. He was her first love.

"Was it bad?" She asks, leaving the question purposely vague. Best case, he'll give her a half hearted answer. Worse case, he'll crawl out of bed, swing his kutte on and pull his jeans up, giving her a short nod and leave.

"It's never good anymore." He admits and she holds her breath, staying as still as possible, like she might scare him off. "Things are always shit these days. We're always in some sort of trouble. I mean, we always have been, but before it was like we'd figure it out. Now, I really wonder if we can. We're in deep shit. I don't even know who I am in this shit."

"I'm sorry." She says, once he falls silent and she's sure that he's done talking. "I didn't know."

"I know." He struggles with himself for a moment, hesitating like he's on the brink of saying something. "I shouldn't bother you with this stuff."

"Wait." She tightens her grip on him, trying to get him to stay in bed with her. "Don't, I just meant… We hardly talk anymore." She tries to catch his eye.

"I've been busy." He says tonelessly, avoiding her gaze.

"I know." She tries to keep the hurt out of her voice. "But you come in here all hurt and sad…" She traces marks on his skin. "And then you leave when I try to ask you what's wrong. I'm not judging, you know that. I just want to know why I'm good for sex and comfort, but not good enough for a relationship and more."

"Because you're too good for that." He says sharply. "Mariah, you don't know what my life is like because I don't want you to know what my life is like, don't you understand that? Because you'd just get hurt, or worse. You don't deserve that. I don't deserve you. But I can't quit you. You're the only thing I have when times get tough."

"I…" She struggles with the right words and he pushes himself up off the bed, shaking his head.

"I have to go."

"Wait." She tries to tug him back towards her, but he's already grabbing his boxers off the floor.

"I'll talk to you later." He says shortly and she's stubbornly trying to stop her tears, tilting her head back and squeezing her eyes shut. Why is this any different from all the other times he's left her bed? At least she's awake this time.

"I don't want you to go." She says in a trembling voice. When she opens her eyes, he's looking at her, fully dressed, a sad look on his face.

"It's for the best." He promises her then kisses her forehead and disappears. For a long moment she sits in silence, trying to swallow the tears. Then she grabs a pillow and screams. Damn him.

* * *

 _Grandma Gemma- The babies_

She's not even really that mad that Clay tried to kill Tara. Sure, she's pissed he went back on his promise to her. It always annoys her when he lies. But that's not why she's mad. If she's being honest, she thought about killing Tara all the time in the past. She's not even completely sure it was the wrong thing to do, with Tara's unflinching resolve to leave Charming.

No, she's not mad at Clay for hurting Tara. That's fine and forgivable. What she's furious about is him letting those men within a 5 mile radius of those babies. Her boys, her grandsons. How dare he be so careless?

Those boys are her everything. If she thought her love for Jax couldn't be trumped, she would have proven herself wrong. Those boys have become the center of her world, objects are which she orbits. They are her purpose. Her grandsons.

They remind her of her youth, when she would go around Charming with one boy on her hip and the other holding her hand, parading the princes. There could be nothing better than that, she had realized. Nothing better than be a mother. But being a grandmother…

It's like she'd forgotten to love until she smelled Abel's sweet, gentle head. It was like he brought some softness back to her, making her feel like the world was little kinder again. Thomas too, her happy, calm Thomas, with his easy smile and pretty eyes. She loves them, perhaps even more fiercely than she loves Jax.

Clay doesn't understand. He doesn't understand what it is like to have family. To see yourself in a tiny face. He doesn't know the connection, the bond you have with them. He can claim to love them, but he knows nothing. Jax isn't his true son, the boys aren't his true grandsons. All his cares for is himself.

Gemma's loved Clay for a long time. Over a decade, in the face of the few scant years she's had grandsons. That does not matter. These boys are her blood, her future, her everything. So it doesn't matter that Clay tried to kill Tara. She's only a little pissed he had the nerve to do it with Jax there. But he sent a trained killer after her grandsons. Innocents. Children. Babies.

And for that, Gemma will kill him.

* * *

 _Tara's hand/Tara's dreams_

It's a weird thing, to have your whole career wrapped up in your hands, Tara reflects. It's odd, that the two fragile things are the most valuable part of her. It doesn't matter that she is pretty and kind, or that she's funny and smart. No, no hospital will hire her because of her jokes or her thick eyelashes.

They want her hands. They want what her hands can do. Her hands can do marvelous things. They are thin and strong, capable and firm. Her brain may know what to do but her hands are what do it, gently repairing even the tiniest broken body.

Her brain is useless without her hands and her hands are broken. Her hands were her life. They're why she gave up Charming and Jax, why she left. Because she knew her hands could do amazing things. They're why she survived on freezer meals and the dollar menu, going to bed hungry and exhausted. They're why she stayed up for nights on end, running through every nerve, bone, and artery in the human body. They're why she's in debt up to her eyeballs. They're why she has purpose.

For her whole life, she wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to help people. And she gave up everything for that dream. And she succeeded. She could fix a tiny heart, the smallest pair of lungs, heal the most fragile of bodies. It was a gift, one that she cherished. She loves Jax. And she loves her boys, more fiercely than anything else. But she loves being a doctor.

It's her identity, reminds her that she's more than just Jax's old lady, a queen to be of Charming. She's valuable. She's got a brain and a degree, unlike any of the crow eaters and hookers that sit around the clubhouse. She is special. That's what she has to tell herself.

But not anymore. Not with pins in her hand, nerves damaged, never likely to work again. What is she if her hands can't be swift and sure? Useless. She might as well sit back and just have Jax's babies till the end of days, always pregnant and miserable, Jax sneaking around behind her back. It would be easy. She'd just stay home, raise the next generation of bikers and crow eaters. Be fat. Stop caring.

That's when the despair rips her heart open. The one thing that made her different, made her unique is gone. Her dream is gone. And it is Jax's fault. Because now she and her boys will never escape Charming or the Sons.

 **AN:** Guys! This story is officially a year old! Happy birthday to my little story, we have a whole year to go still... Sorry if the Spanish isn't 100%, I have a degree in this language and yet still can't figure out how an old woman would yell about telenovelas. Anyways, leave me reviews!


	50. Season 4- Call of Duty

_Jax seeing his mother_

Clay is not a good man. Jax has known that for a while now, but he's always pushed it aside. Gemma, his mother, had always loved him. That had been enough for Jax, or at least it had to be.

Not anymore. Not now. As he looks at his mother, he realizes that the last remaining thing standing between him and Clay is gone. Clay has touched the one thing Jax had always thought he would never- Gemma.

He is stunned, first and foremost. He's not even sure how this could happen, not to Gemma. His mother has always been tough. She has always seemed above it all, the queen. This makes her oddly human, in a devastating way.

Then he is furious. This is his mother. Nothing, absolutely nothing in the world can justify what Clay has done to her. He has broken her, and Jax cannot stand for it. He cannot let this happen. His mother deserves justice.

Clay has been out of line for ages now. He has been since before Abel was born. Any peace they had was temporary, Jax realizes. It had been a band-aid hiding a larger problem, that Clay only ever hurts the people around him.

He wants to kill him. How could he do this to his own wife? The woman he claims to love? All Jax can think about is that night she sat them down and told them about what those skinheads had done to her, how he and Clay had been so repulsed and devastated. Now Clay does this?

He's dead. He's past the point of return. He needs to be put down, and now his mother will not be able to deny that fact. There is no time to think about the past, or how Clay was his father for a decade of his life. Those times have passed. Those things no longer matter.

He hasn't felt this rage for ages. But there is one promise he will make to his mother and that is that no one, especially not Clay, will ever raise a hand to her ever again. Jax will protect her.

* * *

 _Wendy hearing about Thomas_

"Hey Wendy." Julie sits down next to her at the coffee shop. Wendy glances up at her friend, smiling.

"Hey Jules. How are you?" She asks.

"Good." Julie plays with the straw of her iced coffee nervously. "You going to the meeting tonight?"

"Of course." Wendy says, watching her with concern. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Julie fidgets, avoiding her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Wendy cuts straight to the chase, folding her hands over the top of Julie's.

"I have something to tell you." She confesses and Wendy is already counting the number of days she has sober, knowing Julie wasn't far behind her. "I heard something from Charming."

"Oh." Wendy stops her count, blinking in confusion. "What about it?"

"It's about Jax." Julie admits and Wendy's hands find her cup while her stomach sinks.

"What about him?" She asks, trying to remain carefully neutral. Julie is watching her in pity, so she gets the feeling it's not working.

"He, uh, he had another son." Julie says carefully. "I was talking to some friends back there, they said it was that doctor. Taylor or Terry?"

"Tara." Wendy says automatically before she can stop herself. She will never forget that name.

"Yeah." Julie's watching her carefully for a reaction, but Wendy can't bring herself to do anything but sit there, stunned.

Tara and Jax have a son. Of course they do. She's gone, she's out of the picture. In all honesty, she was out of the picture the second Tara reentered. Jax loves Tara more, he always has, he always will. The only thing she ever had over Tara was being the mother of Jax's son.

That's gone. She doesn't even have that. Jax will love this new baby, perhaps even more than he loves Abel. Because he wanted this baby. He wanted Tara to be pregnant. He never meant to knock up some junkie whore. But this baby? He wants this one.

And undoubtedly, Tara will be the best mom. Her son will not have any defects or problems. He was probably healthy, perfect, and flawless. Everything Abel wasn't. Gemma will fawn over her, proclaim that Tara is the best mother ever. She will have the second son, the perfect son.

She feels a deep well of jealousy burning deep in her soul, something she can't even control. It is just a fact. Jax has everything he wants. A perfect wife, a perfect son, his perfect club. He's probably forgotten she even exists. Tara is Abel's mother, has been since the day he was born. Wendy never was. She never got a chance. A deep need opens in her heart.

She's sober now. She's clean and healthy. She could go back. She could meet Abel, tell him the truth. She is his mother. Even if she didn't raise him, she loves him. She is his mother, he deserves to know that. Jax deserves to remember that Wendy didn't just leave her child.

It won't be easy. No, Gemma will fight tooth and nail. Jax will flat out refuse. Tara. She'll approach her, mother to mother. She'll understand how devastating it would be to be ripped from her child. Tara will see how much she's improved. She'll have to. Wendy needs her to.

"Wendy." Julie brings her back to present with a gentle touch to her wrist. "Are you ok?"

"What? Yeah, fine." Wendy flashes her a bright smile. "That's good, that's good for Jax. He's always wanted lots of kids."

"Another boy." Julie repeats, taking a sip of her coffee. "I heard they named him Thomas." Wendy's hand clench her cup. Of course. The name that was off limits to her isn't to Tara. Named after the little brother he so adored. She gets everything, even that name.

"Abel and Thomas." Wendy tries the combination out. "They sound like good brothers."

* * *

 _Wendy in Abel's room_

It's perfect and that makes her hate it even more. She hates the light blue walls, and how Gemma and Jax probably painted them while Abel was in the hospital, in an incubator, trying to get better from her mistake.

Of course there's motorcycle posters on the wall, classics. Jax has probably already taught his little son all the names and styles, sat him on his knee and told him stories about what kind of bike he'll have when he's big.

There's little reminders here and there of the little boy, a stuffed animal in the corner, toy cars spilled everywhere, clearly left out. Wendy wonders if Tara makes him clean up his room often or if she's content to let Abel play, kissing his blond head.

The thing that breaks her heart the most is the little bed. Not a crib. A bed. Her baby, forever locked in her mind as this fragile figure, is old and big enough to sleep in a normal sized bed. Do Tara and Jax lay with him as they put him to sleep? Does he snore lightly? Does he sleep with one hand over his head like Jax does? Does he wake up crying from nightmares?

She never even decorated his room. She thought she had plenty of time. Then she didn't. And then she never came back. There's nothing more that she wants to do than bury her face in these pillows, inhale his scent, and weep for the little boy she's lost.

But she can't. Not in front of Gemma. Even battered and broken, Gemma cuts a commanding figure. Wendy had known coming into this that Gemma wouldn't yield to her. But she'd hoped. And so as she sits in her son's room, desperate to know the boy who sleeps here, she tries not to show Gemma just how much her heart is breaking.

* * *

 _Fathers_

Clay never knew his father; only that he never had an interest in raising a child. Neither did his mother, for that matter. He was raised by his grandparents, who also had no interest in raising another child. He was mostly free to roam as a child, do whatever he pleased, so long as he stayed out of jail. And, as he found out one night, that rule wasn't even strictly enforced. He would catch tidbits from his grandparents here and there- he has his father's eyes, his mother's nose, the like. But Clay never cared. His parents did nothing for him. As far as he is concerned, he raised himself. They don't matter.

Chibs has hazy memories of his father. He remembers a burly Scottish, with a thick brogue and long hair. That's it. His father left his mother when Chibs was hardly old enough to go to school. That's when they moved to Belfast, to be closer to his mother's family. She never spoke of his father again, not to him or to his siblings. And when Chibs slipped further and further into his life on the street, all she can do is grit her teeth and tell him he is too much life his father.

Bobby's father was, by all accounts, a good dad. Besides the mafia thing, he was a doting and caring man, eager to sit Bobby on his knee. He'd smell like cigars and whiskey, the shades tilted against the sun, showing Bobby books filled with his chicken scratch handwriting, pointing out numbers amidst the scribbling. That's where he learned accounting, from his father. He recalls these days fondly and though he can never admit it, part of him is consumed with guilt that he is not the father he should be to his own son.

Tig isn't really sure if he even has a father. He knows that factually he must have a dad. But in all honestly, there really isn't proof. Not in his birth certificate, which has a blank space where his father's name would go. Not in pictures of his childhood, where he is alone. Not in his memories, not in anything. His father has always been absent, and it doesn't really bother Tig. How can you miss something that you never even had?

* * *

 _Tig stepping down_

Guilt. Overwhelming guilt. That's all he can feel. Of course Clay gets injured when he steps away. If he had been there, if he hadn't been so selfish, if he hadn't been so angry and frustrated with Clay. He could've stopped this. He should've stopped this. It's his job.

No, it was. When you can't do your job, you get fired. His pres is sitting in a hospital room, fighting for his life. He is fired. He should be fired. He'll fire himself. He doesn't deserve this title.

He's always protected Clay. Mexicans. Blacks. Irish. Gemma. Sons. Skinheads. Doesn't matter. He's dived in front of bullets. Taken punches to the face and kicks to the balls. He's lost a lot of blood to prevent Clay from having to, but he's done it gladly. It is his job.

But Clay doesn't trust him anymore. He's shutting him out and Tig doesn't know what to do. He's losing his brother. His best friend. He doesn't know how to stop or prevent it. Tig hasn't been very good at many things in life. Not school, which became unbearable after middle school. Not having a normal job, which would prove unbearable after a couple months, tops. Not at being a father, which could hardly tame him for a year.

But the club, that he's good at. Being Clay's right hand man, that's what he's good at. The hammer, the muscle, the gun hand, that's what he's good at. Or at least, that was what he was good at.

The guilt feels like it's burning him from the inside out. All he can do is replaying that argument. Stupid. Clay was vunerable, especially with this cartel shit. This was not the time to leave him alone and yet Tig had done just that, leaving him exposed to the world.

Another thing he failed at.

 **AN:** Man, a lot of Wendy, because when are you not rooting for her? Reviews yes no?


	51. Season 4- Burnt and Purged Away

_Why Tara fears Wendy- "Those are my boys."_

It's the moment she's feared since the day Abel was born. It's what nagged in the back of her mind every time she kissed Abel's sleeping face. It's what preventing her from feeling truly happy when his first words were 'mama' and he was looking at her. It's the very thing she's worked so hard to prepare herself for and now she knows she's failed, grandly.

Abel isn't really her son.

He's her baby, her boy. She changed enough diapers and patiently waited out the worst tantrums, she knows she deserves that title. He's still young. Some strange women that he's never seen a day in his life couldn't possibly convince him otherwise.

But one day, she could.

Wendy could tell Abel the truth. He could comprehend that Tara isn't his birth mother, that she doesn't share his blood. And in Charming, blood trumps love. She's seen it, she's seen how Jax's blood ties him her. How despite the fact that he loves her, he has Teller blood. Charming blood.

How would Abel take it? He might be devastated. Thinking his mother is a doctor and finding out that in actuality, she's a junkie? What if he resents Thomas for being Tara's actual son? What if he resents her for lying to him, even if it was to protect him, it was always to protect him.

She thought that if she just kept repeating it that it would come true. "Abel is mine. I am his mother. Abel is my son." Like a mantra, spat at crow eaters who wondered why he doesn't have her eyes or smile. Yelled at Gemma, when she would remind Tara of her second wife status, meant to be demeaning. Whispered to Jax, reassuring him that she will always be there. Repeated over and over.

But it's not true. She's not his mother. She will never have carried him in her belly, felt the wonder when he moved for the first time, cried when he was placed in her arms. Will that knowledge push him towards the mother that did those things?

She feels like icy water is gathering in her lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Those are her boys. No one will take them from her, not Wendy, not Gemma, not even Jax if he ever got that in his head. She use to think Gemma was crazy, too possessive over Jax. But now, she understands.

* * *

 _"I can take care of his heart." Escape AU_

"Boys!" Tara yells up the stairs. "You are going to be late for school if you don't get up right now!"

"Coming." She hears a weary voice and she slides two plates of eggs onto the counter, setting out the milk. A minute later two loud boys clomp down the stairs and sit at the counter, devouring their eggs.

"Thomas, don't forget, you have soccer practice after school, you dad is going to pick you up after. Gracie, honey, you need to wake up." She calls and there's a loud groan before a little girl trundles into the kitchen.

"I don't want to go to school." She protests, taking the bowl of cereal Tara passes her.

"Everyone is going to school." Jax declares, walking into the kitchen and kissing Tara's head. "Thomas, I'll pick you up at 5:45 ok?"

"Sure dad." He says, between bites of eggs.

"Gracie, can you walk to the hospital after school today?" Tara asks and Gracie nods, taking a glass of orange juice from her father. "And Abel, what are you going to do tonight?"

"Actually, I was thinking about having someone over." He admits and the entire kitchen goes quiet. Thomas slowly brings the rest of his eggs to his mouth, staring at his brother. "What?"

"Who is this someone?" Jax asks, glancing back at Tara with amusement before leaning forward on the counter and gazing at Abel.

"A girl." He says casually.

"A girl?" Tara only sounds a little strangled and that impresses Jax the most. "Who is this girl?"

"A girl." Abel shrugs and takes another bite. "Her name is Trisha, she's from school, we have bio class together, and she's pretty cool."

"You're bringing her over for dinner?" Tara demands and Abel nods, finishing his eggs.

"Yeah, if that's ok. Tommy, Gracie, get in the car, we gotta go." He orders, throwing his dishes in the sink and kissing Tara's cheek.

"Don't forget your backpacks." Jax calls, as the kids stream past them and out the door, bickering.

"Bye, love you." Tara says weakly before turning to Jax.

"You're going to freak out now, aren't you." Jax states, watching Tara with entertainment.

"I'm not going to freak out." Tara says calmly, washing the dishes. "I am going to remain perfectly calm."

"Uh huh." Jax watches with barely restrained glee. "Tara Teller, mother of Abel Teller, isn't going to freak out over the fact that he's going to bring a girl over for the first time ever."

"Perfectly calm, see?" She hands him the dishes to be dried and he picks up a towel, grinning.

"If you freak out, I promise I won't judge you." He tells her and she takes a deep breath.

"Anything I say in the next 3 minutes you cannot hold against me." She orders, gesturing at him with a dirty spatula.

"Cross my heart." Jax sets the towel down and watches her in rapt attention. Tara takes deep breath and then launches into a rant.

"Jax, he's my baby, he's my little boy! He is my first kid. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to handle this. Oh my god Jax, five minutes ago he was just a little baby, do you remember how he use to sleep? When he would sleep on your chest? I wasn't ready, I blinked, I blinked and he grew up. And now he's going to fall in love with some girl and she's going to take him away and I'm not ready. I am not ready for him to fall in love! What if she breaks his heart? What if he breaks hers? I am not ready for this Jax, he's my little baby boy. I am not ready for girlfriends and heartbreak and all that other stuff. Oh my god. Oh my god. Jax, what if they have sex? What if they are going to have sex in our house? Teenagers. Jax, do you remember what we were like as teenagers? We had sex all the time. Everywhere. What if he gets her pregnant? Oh my god, teenage pregnancy. Jax, I am not ready to be a grandmother. Jax, our baby is growing up!" She cries.

"You know who you sound like?" Jax asks in delight.

"Who?" Tara grumbles, handing him another plate.

"My mother." He informs her and she glares at him. "You do! Tara, he is 17 years old, he's a big kid now. He's going to have girlfriends and yes, probably have sex. It's fine. It's normal."

"He's my baby." Tara protests. "My little baby!"

"And he will always be your baby." Jax reassures her, wrapping his arms around her. "No matter how big he gets or how many girls he brings home to mom. We loved him first, he'll remember that."

"He's going to love her more." Tara laments.

"No he won't." Jax promises.

"Did you love your mother more than me?" Tara asks of Jax, who avoids the question artfully by glancing at the clock.

"Ah, babe, I gotta go." He kisses her check. "I'll pick Gracie up after work, I love you, have a good day!"

"Abandoning me in my time of need." Tara grumbles, finishing the dishes. "I need some chocolate."

"Dr. Knowles, your daughter is here." A nurse informs her, poking her head around the door. Tara smiles as Gracie bounces into the room.

"Hi mommy." She says cheerfully.

"Hi sweet girl, how was school?" She asks and Gracie launches into a detailed explanation of her day.

"Are we going to go home soon?" She wraps up with a pleading look.

"Yes, paperwork is all finished." Tara finishes stacking her papers neatly on her desk and stands, grabbing her purse. She offers Gracie her hand and they walk out of the hospital.

"Are you excited to meet Trisha?" Gracie asks, skipping. Tara smiles down at her daughter.

"What do you know about her?" She fishes and Gracie shrugs.

"Abel gives her rides sometimes. She's fun. She makes Abel put on the music that I like." She says offhandedly before attempting to jump in a puddle.

"Well what should we have for supper?" Tara asks her and Gracie grins.

"Mac and cheese!"

"It smells delicious in here." Jax calls as they walk into the house. Thomas walks in the kitchen, looking impressed.

"What'd you do mom, cook an entire Christmas feast in here?" He asks, going to sample of bowl of steaming rice.

"No." Tara swats his hand away. "I thought it would be nice to make an actual meal for Trisha. To prove that, you know, we're a normal family."

"We're a normal family." Thomas echoes in amusement. "Mom, she rides to school with us sometimes, she knows we're not normal."

"We're going to try." Tara declares and Jax laughs, shaking his head and tilting her face up for a kiss.

"Let me help babe."

20 minutes later, Tara is putting the finishing touches on the centerpiece when the door opens. She straightens up, looking at Jax with wide eyes. He exchanges amused looks with Gracie and Thomas before Tara ushers them into their chairs, smoothing down Thomas's hair and straightening her shirt.

"Hey mom." Abel rounds the corner with an easy grin, leading a pretty blonde girl. "Dad, this Trisha."

"Hello." Tara steps forward with a gracious smile. "Welcome to our home. It's lovely to meet you."

"Thank you so much for having me." Trisha says warmly, shaking Tara's hand. "I was so excited to finally meet you both."

"We're glad to have you." Jax smiles at her as Abel pulls her chair out and sits beside her.

"This looks amazing Mrs. Teller." She compliments as Thomas passes her steamed vegetables. "Abel says you're a great cook."

"Well I try." Tara grins at Abel, who winks. The conversation moves along nicely; Trisha is the oldest of three children, two girls and a boy, her mother is an accountant and her father a manager for the city. She dances and runs track, she's intelligent and carries on a proper conversation with impeccable manners. When the meal is done, she is sure to thank both Jax and Tara, give Gracie a hug, and laugh at Thomas's joke.

"Well, she was perfectly lovely." Jax says, as Abel leaves to drive her home. Tara turns and bursts into sudden tears. "Whoa, what honey?" Jax pulls her into a hug, startled.

"He grew up!" She sobs. "He's gonna get married soon, have a family, live far away and never visit!"

"Mom is crazy." Thomas observes and Jax nods in agreement when Tara isn't looking.

"Honey, it's fine. He's 17, he's not going anywhere." Jax promises and Tara dries her tears. "He loves you, you know that."

"My baby." She sniffles. "My little baby."

"She's crazy." Thomas repeats and Gracie nods as the two of them flop down on the couch.

"Hey guys." Abel walks back in, tossing his keys on the counter. "So I think supper went really well."

"What did Trisha think of us?" Jax asks curiously.

"She thinks you guys are pretty cool." Abel flops down, sprawling over Gracie, who groans in protest. "She was especially nervous to meet mom."

"What?" Tara looks at him in surprise. "Really? She was scared to meet me? Your father, the biker covered in tattoos doesn't scare her but your pediatric doctor mother does?"

"Sure." Abel doesn't even glance at her, busy trying to annoy Gracie. "She was really intimidated by you mom."

"Huh." Jax looks down at Tara, tucked in his side. "Intimidating. What a funny word to describe you. It's never been attributed to anyone before that we know, has it honey?"

"I am not your mother." Tara hisses to Jax before smiling at Abel. "Bring her around more sweetie, we'd like to get to know her."

"Sure mom." Abel steals the remote and changes the channel while Tara looks up at Jax.

"I'm not your mother right?" She asks quietly and Jax grins, kissing her forehead.

"I love you honey."

* * *

 _"I am protecting what it took me 20 goddamn years to build."_

Gemma looks around with a critical eye, holding Thomas on her hip. He's sniffling, head against her shoulder, so she rubs his back tenderly. When a large truck pulls in, she gestures for the crow eaters behind her to step up.

"Alright, everyone grab boxes, let's get them all inside." She orders when it comes to a full stop. Chattering, they carry boxes into the newly renovated and expanded clubhouse. Gemma oversees with Thomas on her hip, directing boxes to the dorms and to the kitchen.

"Gem, where are we putting these?" One asks, jostling a box full of mug shots. Gemma smiles and points to a table.

"Throw them there, we'll hang them on this wall." She instructs. "And whoever has the cast-iron pans, please throw them in the kitchen, we're going to need them tonight."

"Alright, move, move, heavy ass table coming through." John says loudly, leading a group of prospects into the clubhouse with a heavy wooden table. They navigate through the clubhouse.

"Hey honey." Gemma leans forward to kiss John's cheek.

"Looks like things are coming together quite nicely." John says, glancing around at the clubhouse.

"Yeah, we want it to be good before the party tonight." Gemma says, directing tables to a corner.

"How's he feeling?" John asks, kissing Thomas's head and gently taking him from Gemma's arms.

"Still a little crabby. A little warm. And needy." Gemma says as Thomas hugs his father's neck tightly.

"Well you can be my little shadow ok?" John murmurs to his son. "And where's Jax running around?"

"Biking with Opie." She says, guiding the men carrying boxes of bottles to the ledge behind the bar.

"Good, I'm glad he's out of the way today." John observes as stacks of chairs are wheeled in.

"He'd be more of a hindrance than a help." Gemma agrees, rubbing Thomas's back. "I think I'm going to go get him some juice. Do you think he should go down for a little nap?"

"Is there a bed in the dorm room?" John asks and Gemma nods, opening the fridge and producing a sippy cup.

"Boys set it up this morning." Gemma informs him and they walk into the dorm room. John sits with Thomas in his lap, looking around, impressed. The walls are mostly decorated, with just a couple boxes remaining on the desk. Thomas drinks the juice sleepily.

"This looks really great Gem." John compliments. "I think things are finally coming together."

"It'll be nice to finally have all that stuff out of storage." Gemma says, unloading picture frames and a lamp. "I'm ready to have my house back from everything SAMCRO."

"Gemma." John says and she turns to look at him. He's smiling at her, Thomas nearly asleep in his arms. "You know I couldn't have done any of this without you, you know that right?"

"Please, you would've done all this without me." She says dismissively. "It just would've taken seven years and the whole clubhouse would've been one long, extended bar."

"I still don't think that's a bad idea." He teases, smiling and she grins, rolling her eyes.

"Well you can do that on the next renovations in 10 years." She informs him and he groans loudly.

"We're not doing this again for at least 15, this was absolute hell." He declares and Gemma smiles. He carefully places a sleeping Thomas amongst the pillows and gets up. "

"C'mon, let's let him sleep." Gemma kisses Thomas's head and closes the door behind her. "I'm sure Big Otto is putting a stripper pole somewhere it doesn't belong."

"Gemma, is there anywhere a stripper pole doesn't belong?"

That night, as Jax, Opie, and Thomas sleep in the dorm room and the bonfire outside rages as charters from across the west coast celebrate the new clubhouse; John wraps his arms around Gemma. They watch as prospect box, crow eaters cheer, and someone is throwing up around the corner.

"Look at this." Gemma mutters. "I love this place."

"Me too." John kisses her temple. "We built this Gem. We built this home and look at it."

"Home." Gemma echoes and she feel the words in her very bones.

 **AN:** So you guys hate Wendy- noted! Is there anyone you guys hate more? Happy Holidays, please leave me reviews under the tree!


	52. Season 4- To Be Act 1

_Jax/Hamlet_

They read Hamlet his junior year. At least, he did. The rest of the class messed around, yelling and ignoring the teacher, but Jax loved to read. He'd always had. And Hamlet was a story that stuck with him better than any of the others. Hamlet was tragic. There were so many opportunities for his story to change, but his end was fated. Jax identified with that more than he cared to admit.

He is Hamlet, the prince. The prince of Denmark, the prince of Charming. Fated to rule, the male heir to a throne left to him by his father. His father, victor in a bloody war with a neighboring rival.

Gemma is Gertrude, the strong and willful queen, eager to hang onto her throne and power. That's all Gemma's ever wanted, all she's ever desired. The power over people, the knowledge that she is better. She is special. She is worshipped. Gemma needs to be the queen.

Clay is Claudius, the uncle that suddenly becomes something more. It hadn't taken Jax by surprise really. Losing his brother and his father had driven deeper into the club, deeper into Tara, deeper into grief. It seemed natural to him that his mother would do the same, emerging with the man that had been by her side. But now he looks back and knows, knows that Clay can't love. He can only feel greed, greed for the gavel and the chair at the head of the table.

His father, his ghost. Jax has never been one to believe in things like aliens or ghosts. But then he reads those letters, reads his father's words and thoughts and it's impossible to not feel like his father is speaking to him from beyond the grave, reaching out, asking to be avenged, all these years later.

The ending of Hamlet has always stood out to him, something to ponder over. Why does Hamlet lash out? Why do his plans go so wrong? How can he lose everyone he loves? Jax has always felt a deep sadness at this, at the loss of life so senselessly. But he's also understood it.

Revenge is a deep and primitive need. It is not one that can satisfied by talking calmly and rationally. It cannot be swayed by a conversation with a mother. It cannot be deterred by the death of a lover. It cannot be stopped by the pleading of a best friend.

No, revenge for a lost father, for a stole throne, for all the insults in the world cannot be done until that killer is dead on the ground, regardless of who falls in the fight. Even if Hamlet himself does.

* * *

 _"If I could stop, I would."_

She awakes before her alarm, not by choice but by habit. She'd had a nearly overwhelming fear her freshman year that she might miss a class, so now her body compensates by rousing itself five minutes before her alarm, regardless of the time or day.

She sniffles a groan, getting out of bed slowly. The window in her room is cracked just slightly, enough to make the air in her room chilly. She strides across the cold floor to shut it, wrapping a robe around her tightly.

Yawning, she walks the three feet into her little kitchen, making coffee automatically. When the ancient machine finally kicks to life, she wanders back to her bedroom, pulling fuzzy socks out of her dresser and pulling them on, reflecting that they were the best purchase she'd ever made after coming to Chicago.

When her coffee is ready she pours herself a mugful, settling down under a blanket on the couch to drink it, reading a medical journal thoughtfully. Outside, the snow is falling gently and she thinks about how glad she is that she doesn't have to go anywhere today.

She finishes her first cup and gets up for a second, only a quarter of the way through the journal. She's finished a second cup and her stomach is rumbling, alerting her to the fact that she's starving. She gets up and makes herself breakfast, scrambling eggs with ease. For a second her hand hesitates over the toast, a flash of blue eyes and a sly grin stops her. Then she shakes her head and decides a muffin is better.

She cleans up her breakfast and flips the news on. It's nothing good again, more about terrorism, death, and destruction. She doesn't pay attention, she just needs background noise as she studies, another leftover habit from undergrad and medical school. She reads thoughtfully, fingers twitching as she imagines herself doing those procedures.

It's a slow morning, the kind best spent under a blanket. She sets her journal aside and picks up the remote, switching it to a cheesy holiday movie, snuggling in with a smile. The movie is ridiculous, proclaiming the joy of Christmas, but she needs a little reminder that magic can exist.

For lunch, she decides that she should walk down to that little deli a couple blocks away. The snow is still falling heavily so she bundles up in her thick winter boots and coat, remembering despite herself that she'd never needed such items in California. She winds a cheery red scarf around her neck, pulling it up so it covers her mouth from the stinging wind.

She walks out, snowflakes catching and melting on her eyelashes. Snow has been one of her favorite things since moving to Chicago, the way it blankets the world and muffles everything so deeply. How it seems pure. Like a second chance for the world beneath it. Tara can appreciate a second chance.

She walks into the deli, stomping snow off her boots and tugging her scarf down, smiling at the man behind the counter. A big bowl of tomato soup is in order, along with a handful of crackers. She lines her bowl with them then knocks them down in order. As she crunches them up, she reflects that this was his habit, not her's.

How many of those does she have? Things she only does because of him? Things that she does without thinking, things that have become habit? She carries so many habits from her college days, but how many are older than that? Like her defiance in the face of authority or her ability to remove a man's hand from her waist, forcefully if needed.

She draws her thoughts from this, eating her soup and trying to focus on people watching. There's all sorts in Chicago, a striking amount of diversity compared to Charming. She likes to see if she can guess where someone is from based on their attire and accent, though the puffy coats and mittens make this a little harder.

After her soup and crackers is gone, she heads to a little drugstore down the corner, needing everyday essentials. She won't have time on the days she's on call so she slugs through the snow, watching as kids play in it, dodging snowballs as she goes.

The bell chimes cheerfully overhead when she pushes the door open, wiping her feet on the rug. She wanders down the aisles, grabbing Advil and Kleenex, smiling at the Christmas decorations scattered around the store. She doesn't let herself think about working through Christmas Eve and Day, one of the few doctors that doesn't protest working the holiday.

"Hey, darlin'." She's browsing the magazine rack when she jerks upright. For one brief, heady moment, all she can think about is that holiday movie, the declarations of love and forever in the middle of the snow, of arms wrapped around her. But that's not possible.

"Sorry." She turns to see a broad man, with a ginger bread and a large belly, the very opposite of the man she'd hoped it would be.

"Mind if I get past ya, darlin'?" He slips past her with a kind smile, grabbing a magazine about hunting and fishing. Tara manages a little smile before hurrying to check out. As she walks out, her scarf hangs limply around her neck. She doesn't matter to draw it up to protect her face from the wind. The string of the wind stops the tears from prickling in her eyes.

Christmas movies aren't real life. Lost loves don't return and pledge love and happiness. Real life is harder, bleaker. It's not solved in a convenient hour and half, punctuated by commercials. The snow doesn't fall gently, it blows. Life is not a string of lights and a sparkling ring. Tara doesn't let herself cry. She's cried enough over Jax Teller.

But that doesn't stop the aching in her heart that reminds her that even as she stands in the wintery Chicago, her heart remains in a sunny Charming.

* * *

 _John writing letters_

"A beer please." He raises a hand at the bar and the prospect jumps to do it, grabbing a cold one from the back of the fridge and popping the top off. John gives him a nod of appreciation, taking a drink.

"Are we having church today?" Piney asks him, walking in. Automatically the bartending prospect pours a shot and hands it to Piney.

"This afternoon." John confirms. "When everyone is here." Piney looks to press the matter but John just gets up and makes his way to the roof, pulling his journal from inside his kutte and settling in.

He looks out over the clubhouse and garage. Bikes and cars are being fixed. He can hear Lowell in the garage, yelling distantly. His son, a carbon copy of him, trails around the garage, an armful of tools for his father's use in his arms. A couple prospects are jokingly boxing in the ring while girls sit beside it, talking and painting their nails. A little family, a little home. It had once been a slice of secluded heaven, but more and more it's beginning to feel like a prison.

He takes another drink of beer, letting himself get lost in his thoughts. The sun is warm but not burning yet. The morning is still pleasant. It'd be a perfect day for a long, lazy ride through the countryside, taking the backroads. But not today. He puts his pen to the page and writes.

 _Mo,_

 _Another day dawns in Charming and here I sit, looking out over what I've created and I wonder if this is how Romulus felt when he first founded Rome. Something so great and special, something so good and right. Did he know then what Rome would grow to? Do I know now what the Sons will grow to?_

 _I know what you mean in the last letter. Was it fate that brought me to Belfast? If I wasn't a Son, I wouldn't have ever met you. But if I wasn't a Son, we could be together. It's the same catch-22 situation I have found myself in the years past. The Sons have brought me the best things in my life. They've been my family, my brothers, my comfort._

 _Yet they've brought the worst things in my life as well. They've been killers, criminals, brutes. Without the Sons I wouldn't have to make deals with Irish Kings to keep me alive, but I wouldn't have my children either._

 _How is my little girl? Is she walking and talking yet? Doubtlessly her first word will be mama. I wish desperately that I could be there for you and for her. It pains me that never will I see her first step or see her first smile. I wasn't a good father to my boys and I wish I could remedy that with her. I know your love is enough for the both of us, but how I wish I could watch her sleep and kiss her sweet head._

 _I keep returning, night after night, to this dream where I am with you. We are in your apartment in Belfast. It's raining and you're making tea, laughing at something on the TV. I am sitting in the kitchen, watching you, when Jax comes out, holding Trinny. For a second, I have this moment where my world is perfect. And then I wake up._

 _I can't sleep after that. All I can think about is a way to make this dream true, to be as happy as I am in that blissful moment before the bubble bursts and I wake. I plot and scheme and plan, but there are obstacles even I can't think my way around._

 _I cannot leave Jax in Charming, not surrounded by the poison of SAMCRO. Not when he is still so young and impressionable. Gemma would never allow it, she'd slit her wrists before she'd let me take our boy out of her grasp. I see how she watches him. He is her pride and her world and I fear that she will sink her claws in even deeper._

 _Even I don't know how to leave this place. This is my legacy, my Rome. I cannot abandon it, not when it is my finest project. My legacy. This is my home. But I can't ask you to leave Belfast, where you were raised and where your home is. You and Trinny are as Irish as I am American and I fear our roots are too deep to be replanted elsewhere._

 _But I am trying my love, I am desperate to make a way for this to work. Know that you, and my daughter, are always on my mind. I wish nothing more than to kiss you, to hold her in my arms. As I see the bitterness in my wife's eyes, all I can do is compare it to the love in yours._

 _As always,_

 _Yours forever,_

 _John_

He folds the letter, tucking it into his vest to be mailed later. He looks up to see Gemma's car pulling in, followed not a second later by Clay's bike. His mouth pulls upward into a grim twist. They're not even trying to be subtle anymore. A second later, two toe-heads on bicycles come racing in, so he heads down to see what Jax and Opie are up to.

"Hey." Clay greets him as he walks through the clubhouse, hiding the fact that he's leaning over Gemma with the pretense of grabbing a shot glass. John gives him a nod in response.

"Jax is here. So is Op." He addresses Gemma and Piney before the doors fly open and the boys race in, Jax talking animatedly about needing money for a game while Opie stands and nods. John passes his son a couple bills and Jax grins, kissing his mother's cheek before racing out again, nothing but a blur and a bundle of energy.

"That kid, huh?" Clay comments, grinning and John ignores how Gemma looks at him with such devotion and adoration. "Always something."

"Yeah." He agrees, turning away. He doesn't need to see Gemma fawn over Clay or how his best friend and wife seem so delighted in their barely concealed affair. He feels the letter in the kutte and realizes that he misses Mo.

 **AN:** Last chapter of 2016 and really, one of my favorites. Tara's time away is always fun to explore, and I really don't write enough of John... But Happy New Year! See you all in 2017. (with lots of reviews, hopefully.)


	53. Season 4- To Be Act 2

_Jax's rings_

He's not sure when it started. It's just a thing in the club, something that no one really questions. They all have rings that they wear, heavy and thick on their knuckles, meaning abounding. Jax wears less than Opie, but each has a special meaning to him.

The two biggest and most prominent are the ones that go on his right hand. The SO and NS rings. He's had them since he was young. It was one of the last gifts John ever gave him, for his birthday. Jax had commented on how much he loved his dads rings. John had chuckled and then on his birthday, Jax had opened a box to them.

"There you go. Two of your very own." John had proclaimed and Jax remembers that Gemma had smiled, actually smiled at this gift. Then John had died and Jax had tucked those rings away for a long time. He didn't want to look at them. They were just a reminder.

But he'd taken them out, after reading the manuscript. He could understand his father again, remember who he was. He felt worthy of those rings. They were a reminder of his goals, of his father's vision for the Sons. And when he strayed, he would look down and see them, guiding him and every decision.

When he was a teenager, he had a big skull ring that he placed on his middle finger. He thought it made him tough. It certainly added a bite to his punch. Tara hated that ring. She thought it was ridiculous and oversized. Most of all, she hated the image of death he loved so much.

He has a couple smaller rings that he keeps but doesn't wear. They sit, mixed now with Tara's jewelry. A gold band, engraved with 'SAMCRO'. A thick, silver ring with the reaper. One with a Harley engine. The simple, small SON ring, the one that sat on Tara's finger for so many years.

Each ring has a memory. Reminds him of a phase in his life. The golden ring, with his rocker on it. He never look that off after Tara left. It sat where a wedding ring would, his commitment to SAMCRO and not her.

He's ready now though. He's ready for a wedding band again. He'd usually forget to wear his when he married Wendy. It wasn't intentional, really, but it never felt right. Tara though, he's wanted to marry her for so long. He'd be so proud to call her his.

The other ring he wears is one of John's. It's the ring he'd been wearing when he crashed. The nurses had pulled it off before surgery, throwing all of John's personal items in a bag and handing it to Jax like it was leftovers.

He wears it to honor his father. To remember the reaper and how close it looms. To promise himself to never follow in his father's footsteps.

Without the weight of his rings, Jax feels naked.

* * *

 _Jax being willing to kill Clay_

It's a strange thing to look at a man and be willing to kill him, Jax muses. It's almost inhuman, the ability to kill. To look at someone and know they have a life just as vivid and complex as your own. To know that they have people that love them and will mourn them. To be able to place yourself in their shoes and yet still pull the trigger.

It's a strange thing, but one Jax hardly even thinks about anymore. He's stopped seeing faces, only end results. Kill them, keep the club safe. Kill them, protect his family. Kill them, avenge past wrongs. He doesn't see fathers or brothers or lovers. Just end results.

It's even stranger that Jax can be so willing to murder a man that practically raised him. John, Piney, Clay. Three fathers, each with their own lessons and their own ways, but fathers none the less. Clay had been there when Jax learned to ride a bike, he'd been there when he'd lost his brother, he'd been there when he lost his real father. Clay had been there for all of those things and more.

But Jax doesn't see that. Can't let himself see that. Because if he thinks about how Clay helped him get through Tommy's funeral or was there when Tara left, he knows he'll waver. He must not waver. John may have been his father, but Clay was the one that raised him in all those moments John was gone.

Clay taught him this, his ruthlessness. This is a Clay trait as any and Jax hates it, hates that Clay is the one he acts like so many times. He's always told himself that he is like John. Introspective. Smart. Strategic. A visionary. That he is in the club for the right reasons, not for money or power or women.

But here he is, willing to kill the man that he grew up seeing as an uncle and then as a father. All because his vision doesn't line up with Jax's. Sure, he can use his mother as any excuse. He can say that Clay hurt his mother. Clay brutally beat Gemma and anyone would want to hurt someone who hurts their family.

But not kill. And Jax knows it. But it's not a decision that keeps him up at night. Clay must die. Clay must die because of Gemma, but more so because Jax will never leave Charming while he still lives and breathes.

Clay is like a poison and Jax feels like his blood is tainted by him. He is a Teller, not a Morrow but some part of Clay is attached to him, whispering in his ear. He doesn't remember the sound of his father, not after a decade of not hearing it. But Clay. He can always hear Clay. And he doesn't know what kind of son that makes him.

He just knows that he is the kind of Son that is willing to kill a disgraced leader, one who beats women and puts greed ahead of the good of the club. He's killing his president, not his father. It doesn't matter that they're one and the same. Clay must die and Jax must kill him.

* * *

 _"I'm sorry." Going against John's wishes_

"I'm sorry." He says aloud, riding on his bike, the wind ripping the words from his mouth. "Dad, I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted. I know this is exactly what you didn't want, what you fought against. I know and I'm sorry.

"I know you know why I'm doing this. I hope you respect it. You have to see how things have changed dad, how Clay has taken the club you loved and made it into something much worse. Dad, I need to fix this. I cannot leave it the way it is.

"The Sons would die dad. If Redwood Original fell apart? What tone would that set for everyone else? We're the mother charter. What we do sets the tone. You taught me that. And now we're into drugs and cartels. If we imploded, everyone else would too.

"You loved this club dad. You raised me to love it. This was your life's work, your passion. I know that. I know that in the end, you questioned it. Questioned everything. But I have your vision. I have your focus. And I will take power.

"I understand dad, I understand why you stopped wanting this for me. I look at Abel and Thomas. They were both nearly killed before they had a chance to take their first breaths, because of me. Wendy relapsed because I wasn't there. Tara was kidnapped because I wasn't there.

"A man tried to kill my wife. He could've killed my boys. I see now why you thought that keeping us clear of the club would've protected us, saved us. I know this now. It took having boys of my own, my own family.

"I will leave, I promise. I will give them and Tara a better life. I will make sure they have no idea who the Sons even are. They will be happy and heathy and never will wake up with the fear that bad men are coming to get them.

"I just need to make sure my club survives this too. It's all I've had for so long dad. When you died and Tara left, this club was everything to me. It's family. You know how hard it is to leave this club. And well mom, you know it's even harder to leave her. But I'm trying.

"I hope I'm making you proud. I hope you see everything, see why I'm doing this. How I'm doing this. All because of the legacy you gave me. This was your baby, before you had me and Tommy. And it was my baby, before I had Abel and Thomas. It is a part of you that I can still cling to. Letting this die would be like letting you go, all over again.

"I know this isn't what you wanted for me. I know how you wanted better. I want the same for my boys. I will do what you couldn't dad. I'll get them clear of Charming. I love you dad.

"I hope you're listening."

* * *

 _"It's our club now."_

"C'mon!" Jax yells over his shoulder at Opie, peddling hard. "Slow poke."

"It doesn't matter how fast we get there." Opie yells back, amused.

"Yeah it does." Jax declares, barely pausing at a stop sign, flying through the intersection with confidence.

"Why?"

"Because my mom is lame and is probably going to make us go home for bed early." Jax laments. "I wish she was like your mom and didn't care how long we stayed there."

"Yeah." Obie's face is carefully closed off, but Jax doesn't notice. He's too busy whooping as he descends the big hill, kicking his feet out as the bike gathers momentum, going without him needing to pedal.

"Besides, everyone is going to be there." He says, once Opie has caught up. They ride through the streets of Charming without fear, navigating with ease.

"Yeah, it'll be cool." Opie agrees and before long, the two of them are at the gates of the clubhouse. They ride in, both pretending to be on their own motorcycles. They throw their bikes down by the shop, loudly.

"Boys!" Gemma emerges from the office, hands on her hips.

"Hi mom." Jax says, grinning brightly at her.

"Where were you?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Riding our bikes." Jax says innocently. "We're hungry now."

"Of course you are." Gemma rolls her eyes and walks to the clubhouse. "C'mon then, your father's are still on a run."

"Is everyone still coming tonight?" Jax asks, bouncing ahead of his mother and hauling the door to the clubhouse open.

"Yes, but you two aren't staying past bedtime." She orders and both boys groan loudly. Gemma pulls a pizza from the freezer, putting it in the oven.

"Mom!" Jax whines. "You never let us do anything fun."

"Like staying up really late and seeing all your uncles drunk?" Gemma raises an eyebrow and the boys can't suppress their grins. "No."

"Mary would let us stay." Jax tries and Gemma looks to Opie.

"Op, sweetie, where is your mother?"

"I don't know." Opie says quietly. "I'm never really sure."

"Ah." Gemma nods, seemingly understanding, and grabs them juice boxes from the fridge.

"Where's Tommy?" Opie asks, trying to turn the attention away from himself.

"Home sick." Gemma frowns slightly. "You two both feel fine, right?"

"Yeah." Jax says, hoping down and picking up the remote to watch tv.

"Of course you do." Gemma hides a smile as the boys flop down on the couch, bickering about what channel to watch. They're eating pizza and drinking their juice boxes when most of the club enters, laughing and joking loudly.

"Well look at this." Otto says, stealing a piece. "The boys are holding down the fort for us!"

"Hey!" Jax glares at him. "My pizza."

"Jax, you're not going to eat it all." Opie reminds him.

"I could." Jax boasts.

"Do not try." John orders, walking in and pointing to him.

"Of course dad." Jax sits nicely while the men filter into the chapel, grabbing beers and drinks. When they finally shut the door, Jax and Opie glance at each other then race outside. They inspect the bike, comparing features and daydreaming about their own bikes someday.

"Hey, you hear it?" Opie asks, pausing. Jax stops rambling about his future motorcycle that will shoot flames and listens carefully. In the distance, they can hear the sound of Harley's.

"They're here." Jax says with a wide grin. They run inside, practically tripping over each other to tell the news.

"Dad!" Opie yells, beating Jax to the door. "They're here!"

"Who's here?" Piney asks, mixing himself a drink.

"The other clubs." Jax says hastily, before Opie can. "We heard them coming."

"Doesn't that mean it's time for you two to go home?" John teases and the boys look at him pleadingly. "I won't remind your mother." He winks and with a shout, the boys run back outside to greet the newest arrivals.

Every man knows them, hoping off their bike to tousle their hair and comment how much they've grown. Soon, most of the club spills out into the night air, watching as the sun sets. A fire gets struck up and some men wrestle in a makeshift boxing ring. Jax and Opie, once they tire of inspecting the bikes, settle for sitting on a picnic table and watching in awe.

"Alright boys." They both groan at the sound of Gemma's voice, turning in unison to look at her. "Time to go home."

"But mom." Jax protests. "We're not even tired!"

"And how you're not is a miracle." She comments. "But it's time for baths and bed, you know this."

"Can we stay just a little longer, please?" Jax begs and even Opie tries with his best puppy dog eyes.

"Ten minutes." Gemma relents. "I'm going to get everything in the car and then we're going, got it?"

"Got it." They agree. Ten minutes later when Gemma returns, they still fight her but not as hard. After they've said their goodnights to John, Piney, and the rest, Gemma guides them to the car.

"Mom, I can't wait till we're older." Jax declares, buckling himself in the backseat.

"Why is that sweetheart?" Gemma asks, driving out the gate and onto the quiet streets.

"Because when I'm big, you can't tell me to go home anymore. I can live at the club." He informs her and she smiles.

"Me too." Opie decides.

"You know, one day that club will be yours boys." Gemma tells them and they both start talking loudly at once, telling her about their plans for when it's their club.

 **AN:** The end of season 4! Never thought I would see it but we all know what season 5 does... (leaves me weeping in a corner.) Looking forward to showing you guys that! As always, a break off next week, but I promise I'm coming back!


	54. Season 5- Sovereign

_Jax's notebook "It's a children's book." (one survived)_

"Abel!" Piper is yelling and he scrambles up off the couch. "C'mon, lazy ass, we got shit to do." He calls and Abel grins, smacking his back as they walk out of the clubhouse.

"I just needed a nap. Your sister is going to be back in town soon, you know she always wears me out." He jokes and Piper, sick of the joke after two years now, just rolls his eyes.

"Willow wears everyone out, you're not special. Now let's go asshole, we have shit to do." Piper hops on his bike. "We'll meet everyone on the old highway, you can explain to Rat that you needed your beauty rest."

"I'll tell him he could use some too." Abel chuckles and they both ride out. Abel enjoys seeing the countryside unfurl under his bike, racing by as they go. It gives him a sense of peace, something about how the noise fades into his bike's roar and his heart soars. It's like flying, and he never wants to land.

Eventually they do, at a backcountry gas station with a lone cashier and one old man carefully loading up gas into the back of his rusted out pickup truck. Rat leads them down a dirt road that lands them in the middle of a clearing. As Rat sits down to do crime, Abel wanders into the woods and sits, pulling out the notebook from his kutte.

He'd found it tucked away into a drawer at the clubhouse when he was helping Willow clean things out. He'd been to amused listening to her rant about her packrat uncles to take much notice of it, but he'd seen the name and date scrawled inside and tucked it away for another day.

 _JNT, 2012_

He opens it to where he'd left off before falling asleep on the couch, taking a second to stare at the handwriting of his father. He doesn't have much from his father, just a couple rings, his eyes, and the way he loves his bike. This is like a gift.

 _I've lived my life on backroads. Interstates and highways, they're great for getting where you want to go fast. But they lack something special, something mysterious. Perhaps it's because they so closely mirror my path in life- twisting, sloping, unable to see more than a few feet in front of me at any given moment. But anything can happen on the backroads._

 _That's where I first kissed Tara. That's where I feel my father. That's where my best ideas happen. That's where I feel free. The backroads provide a certain clarity I don't think I can get anywhere else. You watch the trees fly past, you don't see another soul, and you find yourself thinking… What matters in this world?_

 _You. My sons, you matter. You have awakened and shifted my purpose. I have always prided myself on the way I have been in the past- my world, my own. My choices, my own. My path, my own. I scoffed and scorned people that centered their lives around their children. But I realize now it is not a weakness- it is a strength. To have something worth moving heaven and earth for._

 _I hope you don't know backroads. I hope your path is straightforward. I hope you never feel lost in the wilderness, struggling and unsure. You shouldn't ever need this or feel it. There's nothing like how your heart races when you guide a bike through the curves, but don't be fooled. That moment of bliss will be followed by a crash. That feeling is unattainable and you will only crave more._

 _We are all addicts, in our own way. I am addicted to this life, to my ways. Even as it destroys me, I cannot pull away. I will pull away for you, for my boys. Because I could not live with the knowledge that I am the cause for any of your pain or suffering. I have done too much of that already in your short lives._

 _Stay on the straight and narrow. The backroads are beautiful but deadly._

"Abel!" Rat bellows and he wanders back, smiling easily. "Where were you?"

"Taking a leak." He says brightly.

"Well zip it up." Rat gestures to the waiting men. "Gentlemen, this is Abel Teller."

"Jax's boy." The one man says, a little critical and Abel straightens up to his full height.

"Yes, I am."

* * *

 _Tara's changing wardrobe_

Before she'd been dating Jax, her wardrobe had been, well, a little childish. A young girl without a mom, with a drunken father? Tee shirt and jeans and scuffed sneakers. That had been the extent of her fashion experience. If she wanted to look really nice, she'd throw on a plain, pleated shirt and flats. She was scrawny and desperate to avoid attention.

Then came Jax. Or rather, then came Donna. Shopping had been Donna's third favorite activity and she'd dragged Tara along, forcing her to try thing on, the pair of them riffling through thrift stores and seeing who could score the best deal. Her wardrobe then was a strange mix of half plain, boring shirts, and shiny tank tops or leather jackets. She felt ill at ease in both, one foot in each world, not sure she belonged to either.

Jax had pulled her firmly into his, and so she'd let her wardrobe reflect that accordingly. She'd never been able to squeeze herself into a corset, but a lot of black found its way to her closet. Ripped jeans, a tank, and Jax's flannel tied around her waist. She didn't quite belong at the clubhouse, but she stood out at Charming High.

When she left, all that stayed behind. Half of it was at Jax's or Donna's house anyways. She didn't need a faded AC/DC tank that smelled like Jax or her favorite oversized sweater that had made it's way from Opie to Donna to her. She didn't need a leather jacket. Instead, she bought nice jeans, simple blouses, and modest shirts. She wasn't Tara Knowles, Jax's girlfriend. She was Tara's Knowles, pre-med student.

During med school and her employment afterwards, it was all about comfort. Comfy tee-shirts under her scrubs, comfy shoes that supported her arches, comfy sweats to study in. She hardly owned anything that would be acceptable for a date, something that Kohn had commented on, then ridiculed her for.

When she came back to Charming, she hadn't known how to dress. Most of Charming was use to seeing her in tight jeans and a tank top, hair messy from the back of a bike. But she was a doctor now. Respectable. She wasn't Jax Teller's floozy. She was mature, respectable. She would make people see that, even if at night when she laid down and thought about all those years she slept in a SAMCRO teeshirt.

But now, her wardrobe has changed all over again. She's not a doctor anymore, not with her mangled hand. What is she? What defines her now, if not the thing she worked her whole life for? Thomas does. Abel does. Jax and the club and being the president's old lady, these are the only things she knows anymore. So she finds herself in those tight, low cut tank tops and the tight jeans with the heavy boots. Jaded, studded, covered in skulls and hard edges. She's SAMCRO now.

* * *

 _Jax and his boys_

It's a rare day that Jax wakes before Tara, but his mind has been swimming lately with choices, plots, plans, and more. He feels like he's just below the surface, drowning and unable to come up for air. It's not exactly conducive to sleeping.

He lets his wife sleep. She deserves it. He thinks, with a smile, that he should make her breakfast. She loves his pancakes. But when he pokes his head in on the boys, he stops. Thomas is standing up, watching him with wide eyes.

"Well hello there little man." He whispers, smiling widely. Thomas rewards him with a gummy smile and some babbling. He scoops him up, kissing his head. "Good morning, happy boy. Let's go see if your brother is up." Jax glances in at Abel, who's still fast asleep, one arm thrown over his face. "Apparently not."

Jax takes Thomas into the kitchen with him and makes a bottle, making up a silly story about a talking pancake trying to find his true love, the syrup bottle. He's fairly certain Thomas doesn't understand a word of it, but he's giggling and babbling, so Jax keeps on it. He's just flipping the latest batch when a small voice asks,

"Daddy?"

"Hi buddy." Jax turns and grins at Abel, tiny in his little superhero pajamas. "How did you sleep?"

"Hungry." He says, scrambling up on the chair at the table and Jax chuckles.

"Of course you are. How about Daddy's pancakes?"

"Yes!"

"What's the magic word?"

"Um, Hulk!"

"No, the other one."

"Please."

"That's the one." Jax smiles and slides a pancake onto his plate.

"Hi Tommy!" Abel says happily, tearing into the pancake. Thomas screeches in response to his brother and Jax shakes his head, smiling. They spend the morning making breakfast. Once Jax explains he's making breakfast for mommy, Abel eagerly asks to help. Jax sets him to plucking grapes off the stem and putting them in a bowl though only every other grape seems to make it there.

"Have you had enough?" Jax laughs, grabbing a green apple and a knife to thinly slice it.

"I like grapes."

"That's good buddy. They're healthy for you." Jax says proudly. "What else should we make mommy?"

"Orange juice!" He yells, running to the fridge. Jax puts the bread in the toaster before helping Abel get the jug from the fridge.

"Ok, careful, careful." He guides Abel's hand to pour it in an empty glass. "Ok, do you wanna carry this or the grapes?" Jax asks and Abel ponders the question.

"Grapes." He decides and Jax is a little relieved, because the orange juice is sloshing about dangerously in Abel's hand. They switch and Jax gathers up the plate with pancakes and toast, settling Thomas on his hip before gesturing for Abel to lead the way.

"Go wake her up and tell her we have a surprise." He orders and Abel runs for their bedroom.

"Mommy!" He yells, jumping on the bed, sending grapes flying. Jax sighs. Tara rolls over, sleepily reaching for Abel before noticing Jax and Thomas standing in the doorway.

"What in the world?" She asks, glancing down at Abel. He shoves the half full bowl of grapes under her nose.

"Surprise!"

"Well thank you." Laughing, she takes a grape and kisses his head. "Did you make me breakfast in bed."

"All me." Abel boasts.

"When did you learn to make pancakes then?" Tara asks, laughing at Jax hands her the plate. She kisses Thomas's head and let's Abel snuggle close.

"Daddy made those." He admits. "I helped!"

"I bet you did. Thank you sweetie." Tara beams at Jax, even as he sneaks a grape. As Abel jabbers about what he wants to do for the day, Tara and Jax listen, grinning at each other.

"I love you." He whispers, once she's done and Abel's jumped down to carry the dirty plate to the sink.

"I love you too." She whispers back, kissing him deeply. Before they can get any further there's a crash in the kitchen and Jax flinches.

"In hindsight, we maybe should've used paper plates."

"I got it." Tara swings her legs out of bed and hurries down the hall, soothing Abel's insistences that it was an accident.

"And what about you, monkey?" Jax asks Thomas, who laughs and grabs his feet, beaming. "Come here, you." He covers him in kisses before walking into the kitchen. For a second, with the sunlight streaming in, Tara with Abel on her hip and Thomas's on his, Jax feels like he can breathe.

* * *

 _Why she used 'Rose'_

"Hey mami." The guy next to her rasps and she turns to him, vision blurring with the movement. "Nice chest." For a second, she's about to smack him, but then she realizes what he means. He's got a scar that splits his chest in two, just like she does. She swallows a smart remark.

"Fresh." She slurs, reaching out to touch the scar. It's red and puckered, nothing like her faded one. She remembers when hers was like that, still smarting with the pain inside.

"Couple years old." He admits and she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry."

"Yours is old history though." He comments and she sighs heavily.

"Old history." She agrees.

"What you drinking?" He asks and she's not really sure anymore.

"Anything strong and clear."

"Two vodka waters, top shelf, light on the water." He orders of the bartender, who nods and goes to oblige.

"Thanks." She says slowly, unsure of him.

"Can't let someone like you drink without hearing a little bit about that story." He comments, smiling. "I'm Nero, by the way." For a moment, she freezes.

She can't tell him her name. If her first name doesn't give her away, her last name will. And that's the last thing she needs. She doesn't want to be Gemma Teller-Morrow anymore, not really. Gemma is spiraling out of control, beaten down, wife of no one, now just a former queen, usurped by a younger and prettier princess that she'd spent her life trying to tear down and rebuild in her image. It'd worked, and it had destroyed her.

She doesn't need to be Gemma anymore. Once, she never would've thought to be anyone but the girl she's taught herself to be, the strong and fierce biker queen. But these days, it's not like Gemma means much in Charming. It's a name that doesn't carry much weight. So instead, she chooses to be someone else.

Someone that is strong, is fearless, is bound and determined. A woman that bent everyone around her to her will with ease. Someone who could get kicked down and destroyed, time and time again, and only ever rise. The woman that bore the same scar as her and wore it with pride.

"Name's Rose."

 **AN:** I FORMALLY PETITION FOR A 'LETS ALL CRY ABOUT TIGGY' SUPPORT GROUP cause heartbreaking. Also, I know Jax burns his writing but let's say one survived because I need Jax to speak to Abel through words like JT spoke to him. And I know y'all hate Gemma but shrugs. Yell at me in reviews!


	55. Season 5- Authority Vested

_Fawn on Dawn's death_

"Mommy!" A pretty girl in a purple dress comes racing down the stairs. Fawn stops washing the dishes, turning and smiling.

"Yes, whirlwind?" She asks and the girl finally stops moving, a brilliant smile and a head full of curls. She looks so much like her father, except for the smile. That is Dawn's smile, all the way.

"Can I borrow the car and go to Laura's house, please, please, please?" She begs, tugging on her mother's hand. "We're going to have a girls night and paint our nails and order pizza and talk about boys and-"

"Alright." Laughing, Fawn cuts her off. "I get it. Of course you can go, but then you better be home in time to bring your brother to soccer practice at 9:30."

"Ugh." She slumps down at the table. "Mom, that's not fair."

"And why not?" Fawn resumes washing dishes. Her daughter grumbles for a long while, using phrases like 'not fair', 'rude', 'ungrateful', and 'please, mom!'

"And you like him more anyway." She mutters at the end of it and Fawn stops, dropping a cup back in the sink.

"Jada Dawn." She says tightly. "Do not."

"Mom, I didn't mean…" She bows her head guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, honestly."

"You know how much I love you right?" Fawn demands and Jada gets up, rushing to hug her.

"Mom, of course I do! I know just how much you love me." She reassures her and Fawn chokes back tears despite herself. "Mom! What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She waves her away and Jada falls back a little bit, watching her carefully.

"You miss her today, don't you?" She says quietly and Fawn pulls the plug to the sink, watching as it drains.

"Yes." She admits quietly, unable to keep anything from her perceptive girl. "It's a little worse today."

"Why?" Jada envelopes her in a hug again. "It's not your birthday. Is it… That day?"

"No." She whispers, allowing herself to be comforted by Jada. "No, it's your grandfather's birthday."

"Oh." Jada pulls back, a little confused. "I didn't… Know."

"It's silly." She dries her eyes. "I'm sorry that I got upset, I'll get your brother a ride for the morning, you go."

"Mom." Jada takes her hands. "Really, what's making you so upset?"

"Nothing." She tries to lie, but Jada has been her shadow since the day she was born. Of course she knows when she's lying.

"Mom."

"He wrote a letter this year." She turns and picks up the wrinkled letter from next to the coffee pot.

"You threw it away in anger didn't you?" Jada asks in amusement, smoothening it out. In it, she reads his plea for forgiveness, to let him to know his grandchildren, his apology for everything that is his fault, and his wish that she would at least respond and let him know that she's heathy and happy. "Ah, mama…"

"It's still his fault." Fawn whispers and Jada doesn't bother asking questions. She'd learned long ago that the only thing her mother will tell her is that she had a twin once, Dawn. She'd died because of their father, and Fawn hadn't spoken to him since.

"Ok, c'mon." She guides her mother to her bedroom, lying her down. "Get some sleep." She watches sadly as her mother pulls a blanket up, sobs wracking her body. All she'd like is to take her pain away, but she can't. So instead, she picks up the paper, flipping it over.

 ** _'We're fine. We don't need you.'_**

With that, she slips into a fresh envelope and slaps a stamp on it, resolving to mail it tomorrow. Then, maybe, she'll take some of her mother's pain away.

* * *

 _Tara's dream wedding_

She'd never been one to plan her dream wedding. Some girls played with dolls, Tara had performed open heart surgery on Cabbage Patch Dolls. To each their own, but Tara had been less concerned about bridesmaid dresses and color schemes and more focused on medical schools.

Once all that was past, however, she let herself dream a little bit. She refused for most of her early twenties to let the faceless groom to morph into Jax. Instead, he was tall, dark haired, and dark skinned. After awhile, she'd honed the finer details, according to her tastes.

The first was the venue. No way in hell would she get married in a church. It's be somewhere outdoors- a pretty fountain or a park in the middle of the city. Somewhere small, because it wasn't like she'd have big wedding. She'd no family to speak of and not many friends either. Her husband would have to provide most of the guests. She'd walk herself down the aisle and wish her father to rot in hell while she did it.

Her wedding party would be similarly small, and they would wear deep plum. Her bridesmaids in strapless numbers, silky and flowing. The men would wear grey tuxes, with plum ties and small white flowers on their lapel. It'd be a simple set up, with a few chairs arranged in a semi circle around a small alter.

She'd like a more minimalist approach to decorations. Not a lot of flowers, and no dramatic white aisle either. It felt gaudy and she wanted understated, classy elegance. Nothing to remind her of her past. She's wear her hair up in an elegant twist, wear natural makeup, and a simple dress.

She'd always like a column style, simple. No lace or beading or ruffles. Straps, maybe, or strapless if she could keep it up. She'd wear heels. Not high, but she'd like to have pretty shoes for her wedding. She's have a long veil, the kind that trailed behind her as she walked.

There wouldn't be hymns or readings from the bible. She'd not been to church since her mother's funeral, and she had no desire to ever again. Any faith she has is a remnant of who she once was, and she's changed so many times since then. Maybe they'd read a poem or play a romantic song. Violins would be perfect.

The reception would be small as well. Instead of cake, they'd serve all different kinds of ice cream. They'd eat and dance, smiling at each other in bliss. It wouldn't matter that Tara had no family there, or that she had a bad past. She'd be loved for who she was and that would be enough.

Instead, she gets married in a whorehouse, with a broken hand and crushed dreams, as her husband is under warrant for murder, trading wedding bands from his parents failed marriage, in a tank top and jeans, with a plastic flower tucked into her hair the only thing to distinguish her from anyone else, by a Justice of the Peace, who wants nothing more than to leave.

But it's to Jax, and that makes everything perfect.

* * *

 _Jax's first wedding_

"Mom." Jax grabs Gemma shoulders, smiling easily. "Would you please relax?"

"The asshole at the flower shop just said that the flowers are going to be late." She fumes.

"Mom." He repeats. "Who cares?"

"I do!" She hisses, jabbing his chest. "They'd said they'd have those damn things here in time and now they're late! They better not charge me."

"It's just a wedding." Jax says breezily.

"It is my baby's wedding." Gemma corrects. "Jax, I have been planning this for months."

"Oh, I know. It'll be years before I forget the bridal magazines and the floral arrangement books and seating charts." He says, only slightly bitter. "But relax. Have fun. That's what weddings are for."

"They're for love and commitment." Gemma informs him, then adds on afterthought, "And grandchildren."

"Mom." He shakes her gently. "Let the flowers go. Worry more about if Tig hasn't already drank the 70 bottles of alcohol we got."

"He better not have." Gemma mutters, hurrying that way. Jax, relieved to have distracted her if just for a minute, grins and wanders back towards the little pavilion, making sure to steer clear of the area where Wendy and her bridesmaids are dashing around in a panic.

"Weddings." Clay shakes his head when Jax finds him smoking in the parking lot of the park. "A load of bullshit if you ask me. Might as well spend money on other shit. Like a new bike."

"Says the guy that got married in the courthouse." Jax says, grinning as he takes out his own pack and lights one.

"And it was the best decision I ever made." Clay proclaims, before clapping Jax's shoulder. "Speaking of her, how's your mother doing?"

"Losing her shit." Jax says, chuckling. "Flowers or some shit. I don't think she realizes no one gives a fuck."

"She gives a fuck." Clay shakes his head. "Women. Thinking they only get one day in their whole lives to prance around. Your mother gets that every day."

"Spoiled." Jax agrees, watching as a floral van pulls up and a harried man steps down to talk to Gemma.

"I suppose I should stop her from committing a murder." Clay says lazily.

"It would put a damper on the day." Jax muses and with a long-suffering sigh, Clay steps on his cigarette to put it out and strides over towards Gemma. Shaking his head in amusement, Jax wanders back towards the hub of activity.

Gemma had chosen the outdoor wedding. She'd always wanted a spring wedding, full of flowers. Jax and Wendy had let her have her way. Everything else is swathed in the clue colors, navy blue with grey. More Gemma influence. Jax glances around and wonders if he and Wendy had even picked anything out. He sits down in one of the chairs, it sinking slowly into the earth.

He's getting married today. It's suppose to be a big deal, a life changing event. And all he can feel is apathy. He tries to think that it's only because Opie isn't here. He'd always thought that when he'd get married, his best friend would be by his side, laughing and making sure he stayed at the alter.

Of course, he'd always thought he'd get married to Tara. Opie next to him, Donna next to Tara, the four of them laughing and grinning. They'd use to joke about a joint wedding, joint babies, joint futures. And now Donna and Opie are married, have two kids, and Opie is in jail. As for Tara, well she's just gone.

He sighs heavily, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. He tries to plaster a genuine smile of his face, standing when bikers begin pouring in, some with drinks already in hand. Even as tired as he feels, he must play the part. Crowned biker prince, marrying not for love but for duty. Need to produce heirs. He's always hated fairy tales.

"Jax!" Gemma yells and he falls into place, letting her direct him this way and that. His groomsman consist of his brothers, most of they already half drunk. Jax envies them- he'd give anything for a shot of something now.

They line up at the alter and a procession of crow eaters make their way down the aisle before it's Wendy's turn. She's on Clay's arm, with no father of her own. Jax grins at her despite himself- she looks pretty and she looks happy. Gemma is beaming, and that's enough for Jax.

He goes through with the ceremony, the whole of it- the I do's, the biker's promise, the unity candle, the kiss. When they're done, Wendy throws her hands up and asks for a drink, which reminds Jax why he likes her so much. With the ceremony out of the way, they begin their favorite thing- drinking.

At one point, Jax stops and looking out over the crowd, frowning slightly. Here's all the people he loves, full of kuttes and low cut tops. His people. But it still feels a little wrong, and he knows it's because of the two holes in his heart, one shaped like his best friend and the other like her.

* * *

 _The rings_

Tara stares at the gold bands, unsure how to feel about them. On one hand, she knows she should be thrilled that Gemma gave them to her. That means a lot to Jax, she knows that. He's got on a couple things from his father that he holds onto, and his father's wedding ring is one of those.

On the other hand, Tara knows what these rings symbolize. Gemma and JT, the great Charming love story that ended in betrayal and murder. It's not exactly like it's a love story Tara wants to replicate. But at the same time, it's strangely fitting. Two Charming girls, who left home and returned to their biker king.

It's strange, to think of the Gemma that wore this ring. A Gemma she never knew. One who raised two boys and loved her husband. Would that Gemma have liked her? Would things have been different if she'd never lost her little boy or JT hadn't gone to Ireland? The Gemma that wore this wedding band and promised forever to have and to hold her beloved husband surely never thought of the woman she's become.

None of that matters, not really. Because Tara has a gold band on her finger that Jax put there, and it makes her different. Better than all the whores. She is his wife. And he is her husband. They love each and now they've promised that they always will, no matter what.

She gets a smug moment of satisfaction when she pulls the SO/NS ring off and replaces it with the wedding band. Jax picks her over SAMCRO. He's going to leave SAMCRO, for her. He loves her. She wants to scream it from the rooftops, force everyone to listen and see.

She looks at the matching gold bands and thinks back to where she was a little 16 year old girl, daydreaming about this moment. Nothing can compare, knowing that from this moment on, Jax is bound to her. They're just rings, cheap and a little scuffed from the years of wear before Tara and Jax donned them. But to her, cursed or not, symbolic or not, they are everything.

 **AN:** Weddings madness all around, let's be real, I would marry Jax in a heartbeat. Yeah, reviews?


	56. Season 5- Laying Pipe

**AN:** Sorry for not posting last weekend- a breakup and lack of reviews apparently takes out a girl's motivation. Anyways, here's the next episode!

* * *

Wendy's _years without Abel_

For awhile, as horrible as it sounds and as much as she hates to admit it, she really truly didn't notice Abel's absence in her life. Sure, the reminders were there- physically, her tummy remained a little rounder, her boobs sagged a little more, and her ribs felt spread, but her first priority was getting clean and she wouldn't have noticed if she was missing a foot, so strong was focus on not using.

Of course, sometimes, he floated across her mind, on the days she felt the desire to pick up a needle again. She didn't really remember what he looked like, through the haze of afterbirth and detox, trying to recover from a murder attempt by overdose. But in her memories, he has a tiny button nose, fair, smooth skin, ten tiny fingers and toes, and Jax's blue eyes.

The first time she has a breakdown about him is nearly 9 months later, at group. A woman is speaking about her battle with crack, how she was once a happy new mother, looking down at her daughter that couldn't yet walk, and then the next time she saw her, she was a kindergartener who's biggest accomplish was knowing her ABC's and counting to 50.

Wendy had excused herself to the bathroom to sob so violently she's had to hover over a toilet in the fear that she would vomit. What could her Abel do? Say daddy and mommy? Roll over, crawl, totter a couple steps, eating solid foods, love strawberries but hate peaches? She didn't know, she didn't know anything. She was just another absent junkie parent, cut out of her kid's life so someone more worthy could raise him.

It breaks her again, on his first birthday, the pain so great as she imagines his party, Jax in a silly hat and Gemma buying every toy a one year old might want, that it nearly drives her to drugs once more. The only that stops her is the thought that she shouldn't taint her son's birthday this way. Instead she gathers up all her shattered pieces and goes to the store, buying one singular cupcake and putting a candle on it. She wishes him a happy birthday and blows it out.

It gets harder over the next years, a question she's always unsure of how to answer. Do you have any kids? She'll hesitate, a fake smile plastered on her face, as she tries to navigate these dangerous waters. She can't say he was a stillborn, not when she was at fault for his birth. She can't say he died, because that would break her. But she can't say the truth- that she'd willingly left his life. So she usually mutters something about his father having custody and try to change the subject as fast as possible.

She counts the days she's sober like they're gold and leans on them with every temptation and craving, letting them fortify her. It's like a bank of days that give her permission to think of her son- the more days she has, the more worthy of Abel she is.

The turning point had came when she'd found herself sitting on a bench, watching preschoolers run around and play. Tears had run down her face, unchecked, at their joyful yells. There was just so much she didn't know. He was her son. She deserved to know that he was heathy, happy, and if his favorite color was red or green. She vows then and there that she'll go home, Gemma and Jax be damned. She'll know her son, even a little bit, anything to fill the hole in her heart that grows daily.

* * *

 _Opie knows when Jax is lying_

"You're lying." He states factually.

"I am not." Jax bluffs, folding his arms and avoiding Opie's eyes.

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

"How then?" Jax switches tactics abruptly, smiling in triumph. "How do you know that I'm lying?"

"You do the thing." Opie shrugs and changes the channel, sitting on the couch.

"What thing?" Jax is annoyed now, standing in front of the TV so that Opie can't see it.

"The thing." Opie gestures for him to move and sighs deeply when he doesn't.

"I don't have a thing." Jax insists.

"Yeah, you do." Opie leans forward on his knees and smirks. "When you lie you do this little thing."

"What thing?" Jax rages and Opie chuckles, sitting back, leaning to the left so he can see the TV.

"I don't know Jax, it's just a thing."

"I hate you." Jax sits down, scowling fiercely, and folds his arms while Opie flips through the channels. "And I wasn't lying."

"So you're saying that my skateboard just crashed itself, then rolled itself into your garage, all the way behind your dad's tools and stuff and was just hiding there until I found it?" He asks and Jax says nothing in response, just scowls deeper.

They watch TV in relative silence, since it's pouring rain out and they can't go anywhere anyways. Mary's left again and Piney's off somewhere, doing something, but that doesn't bother the boys. They know how to make stovetop mac and cheese or a frozen pizza. For 13 year old boys, they're self sufficient.

Besides, Opie knows that Jax isn't in the kind of place where he should be left alone. Jax doesn't do well being alone and Opie can't blame him. Tommy's absence is still a gapping hole in their lives, and Opie knows that Jax misses his little brother more at home. So they camp out at Opie's, watching TV and eating chips.

"Ok, but how do you know?" Jax asks and Opie sighs, looking at him.

"Know what?"

"When I'm lying." Jax isn't angry anymore, just curious now. "My mom doesn't, usually. And my dad sure as hell doesn't. What do I do?"

"If I tell you, you'll stop doing it." Opie tells him and Jax frowns at that, not sure how to deny that.

"No, I still will, cause I never change." He grins at that, something his mother has complained about for ages. "Stubborn, remember?"

"Yeah." Opie snorts, thinking of all the times Jax has dug his heels in and refused to change direction. Pain in the ass. "Ok fine."

"Tell me." Jax says instantly.

"You get this look in your eyes." Opie doesn't look at Jax, trying to stop the smile from covering his face. "And you don't meet my eyes. And your forehead does this thing." He scrunches his face up.

"Doesn't not." Jax insists, affronted. Opie gives him a baleful look.

"And then you get huffy." Opie is enjoying this now, grinning.

"I don't get huffy!" Jax says, huffily.

"Sure." Opie relaxes back against the couch. "I don't know Jax, you just can't lie. I know you too well for that shit."

"Yeah you do." Jax looks both pleased and annoyed with this information. "Can you lie to me?"

"I can lie to anyone." Opie says flatly.

"Look and me and tell me you don't like Donna then." Jax challenges and Opie clamps his mouth shut and refuses to say another word.

* * *

 _Willow's tattoo_

She sits at the kitchen table, pretending to read, instead keeping tabs on her family. Ellie is gone for the weekend, off doing god knows what with god knows who. Piper and Ken are moving around the kitchen slowly, trying to cook breakfast quietly, flinching at every noise. She's not too concerned about them. She's worried about her mother.

Lyla is in the shower, but she's gotta be nearly done, Willow estimates. She needs to leave for work here pretty quick and then Willow will have her chance. She rereads the last page, pretending to be engrossed in it as Piper slumps down next to her, groaning.

"I told you tequila was a bad idea." She comments, moving her elbow so he can rest his head on the table.

"And of course we have a fucking run today. Happy hates us." Ken complains.

"Yes, because I'm sure Happy was the idiot forcing those tequila shots down your throat." Willow says bitingly. It would appear that neither of them hears her, as they just continue eating eggs.

"Shouldn't you two be gone by now?" Lyla yells from the bathroom.

"My thoughts exactly." Willow comments, eyes on the clock. Why is her mother being so slow today? She'll have to speed to her appointment, and she can't be late.

"Working on it." Piper says lazily, without moving an inch. Willow rolls her eyes and flips to the next page without having retained a word on the previous one.

"Willow honey, what are you going to do today?" Lyla asks, wandering into the kitchen with still wet hair and a towel wrapped around her.

"Don't really know yet." Willow doesn't look up from her book. "Might go see Jordy, might just hang out here. Nothing special."

"We could do lunch." Lyla suggests and Willow makes a noncommittal noise, pretending to be engrossed in her book. "And boys, go, or you'll be late."

"Stop worrying." Ken takes the bagel from the toaster and meanders downstairs. "It'll be fine."

"See you soon mom." Piper kisses her cheek then ruffles Willow's hair. "See you soon Willy-Bear." She scowls at him and shoos him out the door.

"Ok, well, I'm going to get ready." Lyla says and Willow nods, migrating to the living room, curling up in her favorite chair where she has a better view of her mother's room. Lyla hums as she gets ready and Willow glances at the clock, as it ticks closer and closer to 11. At 10:34, Lyla finally walks out and grabs a breakfast bar.

"Have a good day at work." Willow calls, pretending to be distracted by her phone.

"Call me if you want to do lunch?" Lyla asks hopefully and Willow hums. The moment the door slams, she springs off the chair, running for her mother's room. She pulls the box from underneath the bed, carefully moving things aside so that she can find the piece of paper tucked at the bottom. Then she rearranges everything exactly as it was and pushes it back under.

She glances out the kitchen window to make sure her mother has indeed left then heads to her own car. She parks at her favorite coffee shop, a couple blocks down from her final destination, but she doesn't want to chance anyone driving through downtown and spotting her. She pulls her hoodie up and goes in the back door.

"Willow Winston." A plump man with a ginger beard and a wide smile is cleaning his station. The rest of the tattoo shop is empty, as technically he doesn't open till 12.

"Cupcake." Willow grins at him, unzipping her hoodie and tossing it on the couch. "How are the rugrats?"

"Busy." He glances at a large picture of two ginger children on a swing set, mid laughter. "As always. But heathy, which is all I can ask for."

"Good." Willow passes him two slips of papers, one that carries her father's handwriting and the other, her mother's. "Sorry my mom can't be here, you know how work gets."

"Of course." He waves a hand, taking a glance at the permission slip that bears Lyla's signature. Or rather, the work of a weekend when Willow was 13. "I'll bend the rules for you Wills, but only because I'm pretty sure your family alone could keep this shop in business."

"Hey, as long as you keep your promise to never put a hooker's name on my brothers' skin, we'll always come back." Willow jokes and he laughs as he begins to sketch her design.

"I don't know, I think Pips was onto something with that whole 'Mystique' across his chest."

"He's a fucking idiot."

"Ok, let's put it on." He says, once it's completed and Willow pulls her shirt off, standing in her sports bra while he carefully applies the stencil on her ribs. "Brave girl, ribs first." He comments.

"Pain doesn't bother me." She says quietly and he peels it away, leaving the purple design on the ribs.

"Take a look." He instructs and she does as told, looking it over.

"It's perfect." She mutters and he smacks the table.

"Hop on then. Need anything before we start? Potty break? Water?" He offers.

"Nope." She puts in her headphones and reclines on the table. "Let's do this." She's not sure if she can hear the buzz of the tattoo gun or just feel it, as it drags over her skin. She's convinced that she can tell when he's between her ribs and when he's atop one. She has no idea what part of the design he's on, or how far he is. All she knows it that this hurts. She closes her eyes and concentrates on the pain, exploring it, getting lost in it until she's not sure if it's real anymore.

"Willow." He carefully removes a headphone and she opens her eyes, swiping at her watering eyes. "It's done. I'm impressed, you did better than most people with rib tats, especially for your first."

"Thanks." Wincing, she climbs off the table. It feels like road rash covers her whole side. She walks to the mirror and turns to look it over. It's her father's handwriting, from the note her mother had found in Willow's crib before the men had been taken back inside. Opie had never came out.

 ** _'Willow is the best thing to ever happen to me. She is my saving grace and my whole world. Protect her. Tell her I love her and I always will. I love you Willow Jocelyn.'_**

Beneath is a crow, wings spanning her ribs, wrapping around them with wings outspread to shield her from harm. She lightly runs her fingers over the raw skin, draws pain and just a bit of blood, gazing at in awe.

"Like it?" Cupcakes asks, already knowing the answer.

"Love it." Willow traces the words, her father's final broken promise. "So much. I can't thank you enough."

"Of course." He says easily, as she opens her wallet to pass him bills. "Let me know what your brothers and mom think, ok?"

"Of course." She lies with a bright smile. She won't show them.

"Take care of it, scrub it gently with soap and lots of lotion." He lists off care as he tapes it up. "Peel this off in an hour or so, let me know if anything happens, and come back when it heals so I can see it."

"Thanks Cupcake." She pulls her hoodie on and zips it up, her side protesting with every movement. "It means the world to me."

"Any day kiddo. Come back with the next one." He grins as she pauses at the door.

"Of course." And then she walks back outside. The world doesn't know her secret, but every twist or brush of fabric that sparks pain reminds her that her story is inked on her skin, for the rest of her life.

* * *

 _Jax watches | Chibs rages | Tig doesn't_

Their reaction to Opie's murder is consistent with their personalities, their connection to him, and their natures.

Chibs rages. He pounds the glass and the walls in a desperate bid to get through. All he's ever done his entire life is rage against the world. It's kicked him, broken him down, time and time again. It's never gone his way, not once. His grandmother had said, years and years ago, that he'd been cursed from the day he was born- Scottish tradition dictated the removal of mirrors, and hadn't been followed at his birth. No one had taken stock in her superstitions but he looks back and wonders if they should have.

Cursed child, cursed boy. Cursed when he left Scotland, cursed to only be a heartache and a burden to his mother, cursed to be directionless, cursed to be unfit for Army life, cursed to fall in with the Real IRA. The only moments in his life he hadn't felt cursed was the day he'd gotten married and the day he'd become a father. He realized, later, that he'd simply been cursed to lose the things most precious to him.

Cursed to find the Sons, to find a measure of stability with them. He wasn't quite so cursed, not when he had brothers to help fix mistakes. He belonged, he was valuable, and no one minded the mark of the curse on his cheeks. He was just another misfit fallen in with a rowdy group of misfits. But he should've known the curse doesn't disappear, it just lies dormant, and it rises up to strike at those he loves. So he rages for Opie, he rages for himself, for this damn curse and the powerless it makes him feel.

Tig turns his back. Not because he doesn't feel guilt, but because he does. Overwhelming guilt, the kind that crashes down around him in waves, tumbles him, dashes him against the rocks, and drowns him. He cannot watch as Opie dies, not when two little faces are frozen in his mind.

Their children. Tig has made two small humans orphans. He killed their mother. Their father. He has never been a good man, but he's never thought himself a truly awful man. Until now. He cannot watch as he kills another person, no matter how indirectly. He cannot watch the light go out of Opie's eyes.

It should be him. It should've always been him. He should've died all those years when he was an idiot and laid his bike down, he should've died stepping on landmines or diving in front of bullets or getting broadsided by a truck. He should've been shot in the back of the head, burned in a pit, skull caved in with a lead pipe. And yet, against all odds, he keeps living. But he doesn't watch, because he is why Opie and Donna and Dawn are dead, and the last face they see shouldn't be their killer's.

Jax watches, because he needs to be there for Opie. He needs to make sure that when Opie dies, he goes with the peace of knowing that he is not alone. He has Jax, he has always had Jax, from the moment he was born to the moment he will die. He doesn't want him going alone, could not live with the guilt of leaving Opie to die alone. He sees Opie's face, sees the words he says, and he's never known a life without him and for a second, he's not sure if there is one.

He cannot believe he is losing another brother. Losing Tommy had broke him and he's sure that losing Opie will kill him. They still had so much to do. It was their time. Time to run the club, raise their children, grow up together. Opie is his brother and it's unbearably unfair that Jax is losing him again. Again and again. To Mary, to jail, to death. His true north is gone and he will be left spinning.

He knows that he will carry this guilt forever. This will be a death that he will never recover from. It's as simple as that. He got them into this stupid shit, lead them down this damned path. Opie is dying because of Jax's foolishness, dying to protect Jax and the club and Jax is absolutely helpless in preventing it.

But he will not let Opie be alone. He will not try to come off as manly or stoic. He will let his devastation play out across his face, because he's not sure if there's anything that can hurt worse than this, than losing his best friend. He watches and wishes that it could be them both in there, because does Jax Teller even exist without Opie Winston?

 **AN:** The episode of all the tears...Willow's tattoo artist is based on my actual real life tattoo artist- he'd make such a great character. And I vaguely recall reading comments about Opie's death about why Jax, Tig, and Chibs react how they do, so this is my interpretation on that! Leave reviews in memory of Op?


	57. Season 5- Stolen Huffy

_Tara losing Opie_

For a long moment, her vision is nothing but red. Jax's words, so short, so clipped, hiding back the mountains of pain, had opened a crack in her she hadn't even known existed and suddenly she is drowning.

"We're getting out. They murdered Opie."

Not Jax. For a second, her relief that Jax is alive and breathing provides her with a buoy against her grief. Then it all comes crashing back down on top of her.

Opie. God, Opie. There was a time, once, when Tara Knowles wasn't an only child- she had a big brother that teased her mercilessly, laughed at her, protected her fiercely, gave her the best advice, and never missed the chance to affectionately remind her that she was a scrawny pain in his ass. He had always been there for her, answered her questions about Jax, gave her a hug when Jax made her cry, punched Jax for her when he deserved it.

Her leaving Charming had hurt him almost as much as it had hurt Donna. He'd thought of them as friends and for Tara to just up and leave them, with hardly an explanation, had made him furious. Tara had accepted that, knew that she deserved the anger and suspicion he'd shown her when she'd came back.

She'd thought of him nearly as often as she'd thought of Donna and Jax, in those months away. Thought about his cool head and his hidden smile. She'd see two guys fighting and think of Jax, how he'd barrel into something headfirst and Opie would follow, a little slower, a little more reluctantly, shaking his head and handing Donna his beer.

Half of the reason her and Jax worked was because of Opie, because of his cool reason and logic, his insight to them. When she wanted to fly off the handle, when Jax wanted to make things go up in flames, Opie would be there with calm words and a half smile, reminding them to calm down. She owes most of her teenage years to him.

Now he's gone and her world is spinning a little. Jax's must be crashing and that makes her heart ache in double. For as long as she has known Jax, Opie has always been by his side. She met Jax at the same time as Opie, and they were attached at the hip growing up. If she was Jax's romantic soulmate, then Opie was Jax's best friend soulmate, two halves of the same coin. She loved Jax and through extension, Opie.

She weeps for Ellie and Kenny and Lyla, for Mary and Piney and everyone that this life has taken from her and Jax. Tommy, JT, Donna, everyone. She's sick of it, of having her heart break over and over. How much more death can she take? She and Jax have lost their pair, and it hurts.

* * *

 _"I hope you never have experience what I just felt in that hallway- having your own son walk by you and have no idea who you are."_

"Boys!" Wendy bellows in her most powerful yell. It's an impressive thing, something she's honed since they'd moved out to the farm and the boys had been known to scatter. In a moment, she hears the engine of the ranger and it skids into view, three very dirty boys looking at her with grins.

"Yeah?" They all chorus in their best 'We are not doing anything wrong, we are perfectly well behaved' voices. She knows better though, and makes a mental note to tell Nero to go look for damage in the goat pen after supper.

"Eat." She orders and they all race inside, helping Lucius to the table. Nero dishes them up, listening in amusement as they all eagerly tell him about their day, all the trouble they've caused. A couple times he'll look up and catch Wendy's eye, grinning and shaking his head just slightly.

It's a strange situation, the two of them on a big farm, raising their kids together and sleeping in separate bedrooms, perfectly content. They'd never thought to get together, despite the confusion that the Teller boys and the Padilla boy have the same address, that Wendy brings all three of them lunch and Nero picks all three up from school. That's just how it is. For so long, the absence of Gemma and Jax, the knowledge of what they did weighed too heavy on them. Only lately has either of them felt comfortable enough venturing back into the world of bars and dates.

When the boys are done eating, Wendy prevents them from running back outside and instead herds them in the direction of the bathroom, informing all of them that showers are needed, and now. They protest, of course, because they're boys and there's still fading sunlight for them to play in, but she remains firm. School tomorrow means showers and pajamas.

"How bad you think the damage is?" Nero wonders aloud to her and she can't help but chuckle, putting away the clean dishes.

"No better or worse than last weekend." She guesses. "Typical boys, can't sit still for two whole minutes."

"Well, they try." Nero is smiling, even though Wendy can see the tiredness behind his eyes. "They get into more and more these days, even mine."

"Oh, Abel and Thomas won't let him be left out." Wendy smiles at the thought of how good her boys are, how kind and considerate they are of Lucius's hinderances, accommodating them with ease. "If they're going to get into trouble, everyone is coming with."

"Funny, that." Nero says and they both fall silent, thinking of the man that did the same.

"I'll put them to bed." She says quietly, once the dishes are done and the kitchen cleaned up. He nods and goes to tidy up the living room while Wendy heads upstairs.

"Can we stay up and play video games?" Abel requests eagerly.

"No." Wendy doesn't miss a beat. "You're going to read a chapter."

"Tommy doesn't have to." Abel mutters and Tommy grins.

"Thomas is going to listen to a chapter." Wendy says, not feeding into it. "Now bed, Abel, and when I come in, I better see you closing the book on chapter 12."

"Fine." He whines and goes to climb into bed.

"Will you tell me a story instead of a chapter?" Thomas asks her quietly, as she settles next to him in his bed.

"What kind of story?" She asks, a little surprised. He shrugs, then glances at the picture of his mother on his bedside table.

"About her?"

"Ok." She says slowly and he snuggles in, closing his eyes. Wendy begins to stroke his head, to comfort himself and her. "Well, your mother was a doctor… A very good doctor. She was smart, and funny, and kind, and scary as hell when she was mad…" She tells him a couple stories about Tara that are fit for his little preteen ears, about how she loved him and Abel beyond compare.

She knows he's asleep when he starts snoring gently, his little face peaceful. She eases out of the bed carefully, trying not to wake him up. She pauses in turning out the lights, looking around. A couple pictures of Tara are in his bedroom, her smiling face watching Thomas sleep.

"Tommy asleep?" Abel asks, when she appears in his doorway.

"Uh, yes." She says, smiling faintly at him. He sets his book aside and grins at her.

"Told him a story?"

"Yes." Wendy sits on his bedside and admires how handsome he's becoming. Like his father, him and his brother both. "About Tara."

"Oh." Abel says quietly. "What story?"

"About you guys." Wendy rubs his shoulder. "How she was such a good mother to you both."

"You're a good mom too." Abel knows her insecurities and touches her arm.

"And you two are amazing sons." She kisses his forehead. "Get some sleep, you know you won't want to get up for school tomorrow."

"No one wants to get up for school." He says and she smiles.

"I love you."

"I love you too mom."

She turns off the lights and shuts the door quietly, looking between the two doors with a faint smile. Her boys. Well, her and Tara's boys. They'll grow up knowing her. Her memory deserves that much.

* * *

 _Abel being 15 AU_

"Mom!" He yells, barreling into the house. Tara narrowly dodges his flying backpack as she comes down the stairs.

"Yes, wild child?"

"Sorry." He says, a little sheepishly. "Where's Tommy and Gracie?"

"Tommy is at a friend's and Gracie has a fever, so she's upstairs in bed." Tara reveals and Abel frowns, glancing at the stairs.

"She ok?"

"Yes." Smiling, Tara kisses his head. "Just a little hot, don't worry big brother. How was school?"

"Eh." He shrugs, sitting atop the counter, watching as she starts pulling stuff out for supper. "Fine."

"Fine?" She echoes. "That doesn't sound fine."

"People are stupid." He mutters, fiddling with his phone and Tara sets the celery down on the table, giving him a quizzical look. He just hops down, grabs a knife, and starts chopping it up while she gets carrots.

"Want to talk about it?" She presses him gently. She knows she's lucky- Abel is far more open with her than most 15 year old boys, and she's always prided herself on their bond, but she's careful not to push.

"We were just talking about genetics in science today." He seems as hesitant as her, so she stands next to him, their shoulders brushing as they chop up veggies. He's going to pass her in height here shortly, she realizes.

"Oh?" She keeps her voice light.

"Yeah, so of course, you know, I have to do that weird thing where I explain that I'm adopted. That makes everyone talk, you know, and then it upsets Tommy, and then I get mad and—" The knife slips and Tara snatches it away before he can maim himself. He exhales loudly, frowning.

"Easy." She mummers and after a couple more breaths, he takes the knife back, chopping more controlled this time.

"It just makes me mad. It's stupid." He spits and Tara chances a little side hug, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I know." She doesn't tell him about the smart comments she endures at parent teacher conferences or committee meetings, the snide looks and whispered remarks about the boy that is not hers in blood but in every other way. "Honey, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Abel puts the celery into the big pot on the stove.

"Do you ever… Want… To be… With… Her?" The words are difficult for Tara to struggle out and the note of pain and fear is there, despite her best efforts to squash it. It's her oldest and deepest insecurity, that one day Abel will spit in her face and tell her she's not his mother.

"What?" Abel stops chopping a carrot to stare at her in disbelief. "Like, you mean, leave you and dad to go live with her?"

"Sure." Tara shrugs, her hands trembling as she grabs the salt and pepper from the cupboard.

"No." Abel's answer is forceful. "No, not ever. She's just the woman that gave birth to me. You raised me. I wouldn't ever leave Tommy and Gracie." He looks shocked she'd even suggested it.

"Well, I just, you know, wonder if sometimes you think about it." Tara knows she's on shaky ground but to her surprise Abel doesn't retreat, just shrugs.

"I mean, sometimes I just wonder if I'm anything like her, or if she misses me. You know, that kind of stuff." He sounds unexpectedly vulnerable, chopping carrots to avoid her eyes. "But I would never want to be anywhere than I am right now. You guys are my family and I love you so much, you know that."

"We do." Tara blinks away the tears, hugging him from behind, realizing that he's lost all his baby fat to muscle. The thought makes her sad. "And you know if you ever have any questions, you can ask your father and I."

"Sure." Abel is back to being casual again. "But I don't."

"Ok." Tara goes back to her chicken noodle soup, thinking about Wendy's last email- she'd relapsed again, but she was getting clean again, she promised. Would they let her see Abel, just once? Jax had reminded her of their agreement- sober for one whole year, and then he'd offer it to Abel. The closest she'd ever gotten was 7 months.

They cook in a comfortable silence for awhile, the two of them in the kitchen. Abel likes to cook, most days, and Tara loves to teach him. The soup is a favorite of all the kids, and Gracie would be happy when she woke up from her nap to find something to help her sickness.

"Smells like soup." Jax comments when he walks in and Tara kisses his cheek, avoiding the grease.

"Gracie doesn't feel well. Thought we'd have something nice and yummy for supper." She explains. Jax frowns, glancing at the stairs.

"She ok?" He asks with concern and Tara smiles. Like son, like father.

"Fine. We'll let her sleep, till she wakes up." Tara assures him.

"How was school?" Jax asks Abel and he glances over his shoulder at Tara before smiling at his dad.

"Good. How was work?"

* * *

 _Gemma finding out about Op_

She sits on the toilet, chest heaving, not sure if she feels sick or faint. Her heart is racing, she's broken out in a cold sweat, and her stomach rolls unpleasantly, in a way that is completely uncontrollable.

The world is so fucking unfair. Gemma hasn't asked for a lot. Never has. She hadn't even asked for happiness, because that would've been too much. But she asked for sons, for power, for adoration, and she has lost all those things.

Harry Winston. Mary had been so fiercely protective of him as a baby, rivaling even Gemma. But that hadn't stopped Piney and JT from raising Jax and Opie like brothers, complete with the fights, the disagreements, the inside jokes, the occasional sparing match, an unbreakable bond with a knack for trouble, and a lot of secrets. Opie had treated Thomas like a little brother and grieved when they lost him.

He was practically Gemma's kid. She fed him, clothed him, washed the muddy jeans and complained about the dust he tracked in. Made soup when he was sick, got an ice cream cake for his birthday, scolded him when he skipped school, watched with pride when he and Jax fawned over the bikes they wanted to ride one day.

When Piney was lost in the bottle at the cabin, when Mary was escaping to wherever, Gemma had Opie. Tucked him in at night, grounded him for breaking a lamp, even if it was Jax's fault, picked up his dirty socks, mothered him.

It's not fair, that she keeps losing her sons. Thomas, to the weak heart she passed onto him, Jax to the woman she practically created, and Opie to the life that she was so eager they lead. She should've let Opie out when he wanted it. When he still had Donna, when he was still smiling and kind. It would've hurt like hell, but it would've been better than this.

Anything would've been better than losing him. His sweet smile, the one that had been so open and ready as a kid and then had faded, only coaxed back out by Donna. He'd been the calm head to Jax's wild one and she'd leaned on that hard during the years after they'd lost Thomas. He watched out for Jax, cared out him, protected and defended him as best he could. Gemma never worried about Jax when he was with Opie.

Of course that's how he died then, doing exactly what she'd always asked of him- making sure Jax got out, free and clear, unscathed. She never thought it'd cost him his life. She weeps as her heart feels like it's shattering all over again. She keeps losing her sons, and she's not sure if she can handle any more of this pain.

* * *

 _"That's your family. Anything you need, you just ask."_

Willow is screaming. Had been, for days on end, and it'd set Piper off, then Kenny, then Ellie, a chain reaction of crying and screaming. She is at her wits end, with a toddler who is feverish and inconsolable, a child who is tired and cranky, a preteen who is hormonal and angry, and a teenager who is angsty and hostile. Any other mother would've cracked, and Lyla's head feels like it's going to explode.

She just wants peace. Five minutes of Willow and Piper sleeping, actually sleeping, Ken reading, Ellie on her computer or phone. They didn't even have to do their homework or smell good or listen to her. If they were quiet, she'd consider her battle won. Anything to stop the pounding in her head.

She's delusional, covered in puke, mashed food, and spilled drinks, when she finally makes up her mind. It's this, or she'll drive herself to drink or worse, back to the needles. So she plops Willow in Ellie's arms, deposits Piper with Kenny, and tells them all she needs 15 minutes. That's all.

They're so surprised, and a little scared, that they do as told. Ellie cuddles Willow, rubbing her little back, and Kenny draws with Piper. Lyla gets in the shower, the hot water and minutes alone like bliss. Then she gets out, braids her wet hair back, and pulls on shorts and a tee shirt. She walks out, feeling a little more in control of her life.

She orders them into the car and they go meekly, unsure of what's going on. Lyla gathers up bags and toys, throwing it all in the car. It doesn't matter, not really. She drives in silence through town, the kids silent in the backseat, exchange nervous looks. When she parks at the clubhouse, they are really confused. They rarely come here.

Lyla shoos them out, picking up a dozing Willow, who promptly wakes up and bursts into wails at the top of her lungs. Lyla marches inside, and doesn't need words. It's her call for help, loud and clear, and the second the door slams shut, it's answered.

"Kenny! C'mere!" Chibs booms. "You helpin' me with dat new bike?"

"Sure!" Kenny says eagerly and Chibs leads him outside.

"Can I help in the shop too?" Piper asks Quinn, who smiles down and wipes a little bit of dirt off his nose.

"Sure little man. C'mon, in the tow truck with me, we're gonna go see if we can pick up some ladies."

"Ladies?" Piper asks a little unsurely, but hangs off Quinn's hand as they leave.

"Someone seems fussy." A crow eater plucks Willow from her arms. "C'mon little one, let's go lay down. You need a long nap, don't you?"

"Hey, Ellie-Bo-Bellie." Brooke is standing in the kitchen. "Can you come help me with supper?"

"What is it?" Ellie goes a little slowly, hesitating.

"Well, I was thinking this tuscan pasta I found online- tell me how many cups heavy whipping cream I need."

"Um, it says two…"

"Hey you." Zaneta rubs her shoulders gently and Lyla turns, looking at her in surprise. "You look like you need your nails done, or something. Go. We've got the kids."

"Are you sure?" Lyla asks, more because she has to than she wants to.

"Yes." Zaneta pats her on the butt. "Go, mama." Lyla practically dashes for the door. She does get her nails done, along with her toes, and gets her hair cut and colored. She shops for groceries without someone pitching a fit about not getting fruit loops, and she goes to the studio, editing in peace.

The sun has nearly set when she pulls back into the clubhouse, a little apprehensive. It's still standing, and there are no fire engines or ambulances, so it likely went fine. She walks in and a slow smile blooms on her face.

Kenny and Piper are having root beer floats, laughing and giggling with a couple other kids, the TV on some stupid reality contest show. Ellie is chattering away in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and a streak of flour on her forehead. Brooke and the other crow eaters are laughing. And Willow is sitting on the floor, being entertained by Tig and one of her toys. She's smiling, bright eyed for the first time in weeks.

"You look better." Zaneta comments, bumping her with a knowing smile.

"I feel better." Lyla says honestly.

"You needed a day off." Zaneta helps put plates on the tables. "You can always drop them off here with us. We'll always watch out for them."

"I know." Lyla says quietly, thinking about the words she'd once heard in this clubhouse. "Anything I need, just ask."

 **AN:** Thank you to everyone who reviews, y'all are the sunshines in my day! Let me know what you thought.


	58. Season 5- Orca Shrugged

_Jax learning to fight_

"Hands up." It was like a mantra, running through Jax's head. Little Otto kept repeating it, over and over, and Jax's arms were aching.

"Light on your feet." He was barefoot in the boxing ring they'd rigged up outside of the clubhouse. He was bouncing around on the balls of his feet, trying to stay on his toes, even if his calves were screaming in protest.

"Focus. Eyes on him." It was Opie across from him, the two of them circling and circling, until Jax was sure he'd be dizzy enough to fall down if he hadn't been locked on Opie. It was strange, how the whole world seemed to fade away until it was just him and Opie in the ring, Little Otto's instructions the only noise.

"Hands up! Light on your feet! Focus on him!" He repeated and it wasn't Opie that drops first but Jax, turning to look at Otto with an annoyed expression. "Hands aren't up." Otto commented, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"This is boring." Jax declared, his arms falling and his calves loosening. "When are we actually going to hit each other?"

"When you can do it with poise and technique." Otto raised one eyebrow at Jax's little sigh of frustration.

"I don't need poise and technique." He boasted. "Watch." With that, he dove at Opie's legs, tackling. Opie went down hard, pounding on Jax's back. They wrestled for a long moment, grunting and growling, each trying to pin the other. Jax was nearly victorious before Opie got him in a chokehold and Jax had to tap out, gasping.

"You were saying?" Otto commented quietly and Jax glared at Opie.

"That was cheap."

"You tackled me." Opie had no remorse.

"Exactly, and you're not always going to have the element of surprise on your side Jax." Otto reminded him. "And you were sloppy as shit, letting Opie get through your defenses like that. Are you kidding me?"

"I'll do better." Jax squared his slim shoulders. "This time, I'll do better."

"No, you won't." Otto climbed into the ring, bending to be closer to Jax's level. "Want to know why?"

"Doesn't have technique and poise." Opie supplied helpfully and Otto pointed to him.

"Exactly. Jax, you're a firecracker. That's great. All your energy is great, but you have to channel it and do it right. You're all flash, no defense. Sometimes you're going to need it." Otto gestured for him to put his hands up and Jax does as told.

"But it's boring." He complained, before he could help himself.

"Yeah, and so are pushups and sit ups and pull ups but you have to do all that shit before you can fight too." Otto glanced at the weightlifting equipment outside. "Unless you're Lenny and do it for other weird reasons."

"But when are we going to learn to punch and kick?" Jax couldn't help but ask and Otto sighed deeply.

"Jax, when you can learn to control yourself, when you can remain calm and have a clear head, when you react with purpose instead of blindly, then you can actually fight." He explained.

"Boring." Jax grumbled but Opie had a thoughtful expression.

"Smart." He corrected Jax, who made a face at his best friend.

"And you." Otto pointed to Opie. "You need to learn to act, instead of just reacting. You're too calm, you need some of Jax's spark."

"Ha." Jax grinned.

"Strange." Otto shook his head at the two boys. "If I could combine the two of you, I'd have the best fighter I'd ever coached."

"We can fight together." Jax said eagerly and Otto just blinked.

"No. First we're going to learn technique. Hands up."

Three hours later, both he and Opie were lying on the floor on the ring, sprawled out. Otto sat on the picnic table beside them, smoking and reading a magazine. Gemma strolled up, looking between the boys and Otto in confusion.

"Well, they didn't burn the place to the ground, which is another victory." She decided, arms folded. "But christ Moran, what did you do to them? They're never this still."

"Taught them to fight." Otto gave them a dismissive glance. "Tried to at least."

"To fight?" Gemma raised one eyebrow. "They're ten."

"Yeah, and it shows. No discipline." He watched as Jax sat up.

"Little Otto says I'm a firecracker, all flash, no substance." He tattled and Gemma mulled that over for a moment.

"He has a point." She admitted. "But he's ten." She reminded Otto one last time, who just grinned and put his hands up. "Alright fighters, get in the car, you can go wrestle or whatever at home."

* * *

 _What Gemma does to men_

It's something in her touch, she concludes. Or maybe her lips. Maybe when she kisses them, that's when it happens. Or maybe all it takes is a touch, her fingers to glide across their skin. Or all it takes is for men to look into her dark eyes and she turns them evil.

That would make the most amount of sense, given her history. But it didn't start out that way. Her father adored her, loved her to pieces. He was good and sweet and kind, faithful to the Lord and decent. She'd heard before that girls marry men like their father's, so it stood to reason that Gemma would become a preacher's wife.

Instead, she finds herself loving the exact opposite. The more tattoos and scars the better. They've got to have long, scraggly beards, dirt under their nails, teeth faded yellow by cigarettes, wild eyes that can be tamed by no woman.

Gemma's father never laid a hand on her, not even for a spanking. Not even when she reached for things she shouldn't, when she broke things, when she was clumsy or stupid. Rose had, of course, had broken countless wooden spoons over her. But never her father, and so it's a little bewildering why Gemma lets fingers close around her throat, why her eye can be blackened, why she knows how to hide bruises with sunglasses and long sleeve shirts.

She does it to them, she thinks. If it was any other woman, they wouldn't do this. It must be her. She must twist them up inside, until it's ok for them to hit her, to smack her down. It's been that way since she left home. She takes good men, decent men, warps them until they are monsters.

Maybe she can seek them out. Maybe there's something in her that alerts her to the waiting darkness in man, lying dormant and needing someone to draw it out. Gemma does that, has for every man she's ever known. She's never dated calm and comforting. She's dated men with guns tucked beneath their shirts and belts worn down from knives sitting there.

She makes them meaner, greedier, angrier. Gemma is the spark to start a blaze, she pulls the pin in the grenade, she uncorks the volatile rage. She accepts this, that this is how it's always going to be. It confuses people, why Gemma, daughter of sweet Nate, falls in love with the devil himself.

They never pause to think that perhaps Gemma isn't seeking out men like her father, but men like her mother.

* * *

 _Tig's scars- on the ass_

"It's gonna leave a cool scar though." Abel says, inspecting the wound.

"You were stabbed." Willow reminds him dryly.

"Yeah, but not bad or anything." He experimentally stretches his leg, watching to make sure the stitches don't tear.

"Stabbed." Willow repeats and he waves a hand.

"Not badly." He insists and Willow just takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"No really, it's not that bad." Tig is inspecting the stitches as well, like a normal human might check out a bruised apple. "And it won't even have that cool of a scar. I've got a lot cooler."

"It's not a competition!" Willow yells from the direction of the bar.

"It's a competition." Tig assure him, but quietly, so that Willow doesn't hear him.

"Well who's winning?" Abel demands and Tig beams proudly. "Alright, then let's see what I'm stacked up against."

"You really wanna play this game?" Tig asks incredulously.

"What game?" Ken and Piper are strolling in, curious.

"Comparing who's got the coolest scars." Willow explains, from her perch at the bar, mixing drinks and rolling her eyes.

"And you're going against Tig?" Ken raises an eyebrow as Piper flops down on the couch. "Bold strategy, Teller."

"Why, does he have some extremely cool scar of Slash's face on his ass or what?" Abel demands and Willow snorts, nearly spraying her drink.

"Close." Chibs walks out of the dorm room, grinning and Abel eyes Tig hesitantly.

"Seriously?"

"Even better." Tig peels his shirt off, tossing it aside. "Bullet, bullet, knife, bullet, hot poker, taser, steak knife, and rebar." His fingers fly across his chest and arms, pointing out scars. Abel can't risk blinking or he'll miss one.

"Spin." Willow orders, hopping off the bar and Tig turns obediently so Willow can point out the ones on his back. "That's from barbed wire, that's my favorite, tell him that one."

"Did you drive into it?" Abel asks and Tig shakes his head. "Try to climb over it?" Another head shake. "Then what the fuck did you do?"

"I fell on it." He explains and Abel stares at him in bewilderment.

"How the fuck do you fall on barbed wire?"

"Talent." Willow pats Tig's head. "And a hell of a lot of stupidity."

"I was jumping into a dumpster." Tig states. "Didn't realize there was barbed wire in there."

"Ok, and the rest?" Abel stares at Tig's skin and there's not really a patch that isn't covered with scar tissue or tattoos. Ken, Willow, and Piper can tell most of the stories. There's accidents, fights, crashes, and dares that cover most of Tig's skin. Most of them are standard- he took a bullet in a shootout, was dared that he wouldn't brand himself, as one does. It's a little alarming, even for Abel, how many scars Tig has and how casually they are talked about.

"But don't ask him to see the best one." Piper warns him.

"Well, when you say it like that, of course I want to see it." Abel protests.

"No, seriously, you don't." Ken agrees.

"No, I do." Abel says stubbornly.

"Really?" Tig's eyes light up.

"No!" All the Winston children protest.

"Yes." Abel cuts across them and Willow makes a noise of disgust.

"Let me cover my eyes at least." She turns away. "Aright, show him then Tiggy."

"What the hell?" Abel yelps, when Tig pulls down his pants so his bare ass hangs out.

"That one is my favorite." He says proudly and for a second, Abel is blinded by the white skin. The he focuses and he realizes there is indeed a scar there. For a second he tries to figure out what it is.

"The hell?"

"It's a bite mark." Piper and Ken don't seem phased by it. "See?"

"Well, now I do, but why did someone bite your ass?" Abel pauses, reconsidering his question. "Am I going to want to know why someone bite your ass?"

"Hazard of the job." Tig says dismissively and Willow gestures behind her back for him to pull his pants back up. "Shit happens, jobs go south, you know, you get bit in the ass."

"So sorry." Willow bends down and kisses Abel's cheek. "But you'll never win the cool scar competition. I'm going to go study, do not pull your stitches out." She disappears with a wave and Abel turns back to Tig.

"So, did it hurt?"

"Oh, like hell."

* * *

 _The extremes_

 **Gemma**

"If I factor in labor, that only ends up as $113, but then I have to add in tires and the brake fluid change, so that's going to get me up but then if Mark is making $9 an hour, I need to factor in the 32% markup, so that will be taken out of his paycheck, but he worked overtime last week and needs time off next week, so if I balance out the two, I wind up with," She huffs under her breath, rapidly tapping the calculator as she goes.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" Wendy sticks her head in, smiling. Gemma looks up and a little smile crosses her face. Wendy's been hanging around the club more- around Jax more. Gemma approves, and that's saying something.

"Oh, just the books." She sits back and realizes how messy her desk has gotten.

"Looks like you need coffee. Or a smoke." Wendy offers her both and Gemma takes the coffee gratefully.

"Thanks. This time of the month, shit gets a little crazy." She admits and Wendy looks over the spreadsheets, covered in Gemma's scribbles.

"What is it all?" She wonders aloud.

"Paychecks, benefits, and bills mostly." Gemma explains. "Everyone's got something. Gotta pay your people, make sure you have enough for parts and such."

"Balancing act." Wendy mutters and Gemma nods. "And you do it all?"

"Have, for a long time." Gemma says proudly. "Almost since I got hooked up with JT. All those guys back then were shit with numbers. Place was a mess when I came in."

"Hard to believe it can be worse than this." Wendy teases and Gemma rolls her eyes.

"Trust me, it was. Besides, I've always liked numbers. I worked here, brought Jax and Opie in when they were little to play, kept an eye on them and my other babies, the club. Been doing it ever since."

"Looks fun." Wendy sets down a pack of smokes. "For tax season then."

"Thanks." Gemma snorts, and goes back to her calculator.

-0-

"Hey, hey, hey, you're fine, shush, you're ok." Gemma says soothingly and the man- boy actually, he's hardly older than her own son- is limp in her arms, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.

"I'm gonna die." He states and she hoists him up a little higher, holding onto him a little tighter.

"No you're not. You're not going to die. Don't say that. It's fine, you're fine." She reassures him and he's staring at his leg in horror.

"I got shot."

"Happens all the time." She states factually.

"I need to go to the hospital." He realizes, a little belatedly.

"No you don't." Gemma is trying to remain calm, hanging onto this boy, watching the door and hoping that help is going to come through it.

"I'm going to die. I need a doctor." He states, getting a little wide eyed with panic.

"We got a doctor." Gemma says, and hopes like hell it's true.

"Where are they?" He demands and Gemma just smoothes his hair back.

"Coming." She declares.

"I don't wanna die."

"You're not going to die." Gemma repeats it for the hundredth time.

"Gemma." A short, pudgy man walks into the warehouse, apparently shocked to see her. "What in the seven hells are you doing here?"

"Clay called, said I was needed. They gotta go after them." She explains and he doesn't question why it's Clay that called her, instead of JT. "Just a bullet, mid thigh, missed any major arteries, but it don't go clean though."

"Ok, let's stop the bleeding." He declares. "Then we'll get the bullet out."

"Am I gonna die?"

"No." Gemma says firmly. "No, you are not going to die. Everything is fine."

"I don't want to die."

"Hey." Gemma squeezes him tightly to get his attention. "I have seen death. This isn't it. Got a friend here, he's going to clean you up, and then we'll take you back to the clubhouse so the girls can fawn over you. Now shut up, hold still, and take it like a man or you'll never be a Son."

 **Tara**

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me." Tara clasps their hands with her good one, noticing how they see the cast and determined to ignore it. "I know it's probably hard to step away from Jonathan's side."

"Feel like I should start paying a mortgage or something, since we practically live here." The father, Tyler, jokes and she lets herself chuckle, the right amount of professional, but human.

"I remember the feeling." She says warmly, guiding them to the couch where they can sit, offering them water, coffee, or tea. "My first son was born with some heart and stomach issues, so I've been in your shoes."

"Oh, really?" The mother, Suzanne, perks up at that. It's a lie, and Tara knows it, but it bonds her to another mother, gives them something in common. It doesn't matter that she didn't give birth to Abel, she did spend most of her free time at his side, and that gives her a right to say this.

"Yes." Tara sits with her own mug of tea. "But now he's a rambunctious toddler and it's only occasionally that I think of the premature little boy who stayed here. Jonathan reminds me a lot of him."

"Really?" Tyler asks hesitantly and Tara nods. "The other doctors, they warned us…"

"I know." She leans forward, so they can see the photos on the desk behind her. Abel and Thomas. "And that's why I wanted to meet with you, because I think there's something we can do." She explains to them her idea, the course of treatment, everything, and they listen intently. When she gets done, they are quiet for a long moment. Then Suzanne speaks.

"Would you put your own son through it?" She asks and Tara glances over her shoulder at the pictures of her boys.

"I would do anything to give them their best shot." She says carefully. "And I know this is it. So yes, I would."

"Then we'll do it." Suzanne decides. "Thank you, Dr. Knowles."

-0-

"Hey." Jax crawls into bed and instantly pulls her close to him, snuggling up to her.

"Hi." She mutters, a little surprised. Usually Jax has been so tired, he falls into bed and is asleep almost instantly. Lately, she's been lucky if she gets a goodnight kiss and not much more. She waits for a long moment to see if he'll say something.

"I love you." He mutters finally and her mouth twitches up into a smile.

"I love you too." She rolls over to face him. "What's up?"

"Nothing." He presses a kiss to her forehead.

"How was today?" She pushes, because she's worried about him, has been for awhile, but she hardly tells him anymore. She feels like it's just as assumed state of being now, worried and tense.

"Ok." He says carefully and she snuggles into his chest, tracing patterns on his chest.

"Just ok?" She pushes him now, because he doesn't seem upset or angry, just tired.

"It was a better day." He admits. "Didn't have to kill anyone. Well, I didn't have to."

"That's good." And it feels like she's a million miles away, her voice strange in her own ears. It's good, he didn't kill anyone. Today. He doesn't have blood on his hands. Today.

"Met with some people. Still trying to get us out of the drugs." He rubs his face.

"And back into guns?" She asks and it still sounds strange, her voice saying these things, knowing these things.

"Maybe porn. Or the escort business." Jax says thoughtfully. "There's a lot of money there, and it's mostly legit."

"Mostly is better than not at all." She comments and Jax chuckles.

"Yeah, that's true. Just the matter of talking to the right people, shaking the right hands." He mutters and bizarrely, she thinks of the business etiquette classes she'd attended in college, talking about how you had to network the right people, mingle politely, before asking for favors.

"You'd make a brilliant businessman." She realizes aloud and Jax frowns slightly, leaning back to look at her. She tilts her head up, looking at him in realization.

"I'd what?" He asks, bewildered.

"Nothing." She tightens her arms around him. "Nothing at all."

"Ok." He kisses the top of her head as she traces the scars that litter his chest. "I love you. Goodnight."

"Sweet dreams." She whispers, because it seems like all too often, her dreams are filled with blood and guns, just like her life.

 **Jax**

"C'mon little dude." He picks Thomas up and is hit by a powerful smell. "Oh, no." Gingerly, he sniffs Thomas's butt and has his worst fears confirmed. Dirty diaper.

He carries Thomas into the bedroom, setting him on the changing table and gingerly peeling away the pants. To his horror, there's poop on the pants, Thomas's onsie, and his legs.

"Blowout." Jax whispers in dread. Thomas screws up his face, and as if on cue, begins to wail. "No, no, no, stop crying!" Jax says instantly, panicking. Of course Tara and his mother are out grocery shopping with Abel. No one is home. This is on him.

He holds Thomas's legs up so the poop doesn't get on the changing table, trying to take off the diaper without getting poop on his own hands. Thomas is still screaming bloody murder, so Jax takes a deep breath, trying to calm him down.

"It's ok, it's ok little man, it's fine, Daddy's here, I'm changing your diaper, we're gonna get a nice clean diaper on, it's ok, it's ok, you're fine." He says, using and discarding whips. "But seriously, how can you poop so much?" This sets off another fresh round of wails, so Jax gives up entirely.

Even with half a container of wipes used, the poop still hasn't gone anywhere, so Jax concedes defeat and begins to strip Thomas, as he sheds his own clothes. Thomas lowers the cries a little bit and Jax finally scoops him out, both of them naked, and heads to the shower.

"Alright, this is where we're at." He declares, stepping into the warm water. Thomas subsides into hiccups and Jax stands, holding Thomas tightly, as the water washes away the poop. "Taking a shower. That was a nasty diaper dude. Seriously. I've changed a fair amount of diapers and that was impressive." Thomas gurgles and Jax laughs, kissing his head.

"Jax?" Tara calls.

"Bathroom." He yells back and then shuts the water off, stepping out.

"What's going on?" She asks, poking her head in, slightly bewildered at the sight of them.

"We needed to rinse off." Jax explains, grabbing a towel and handing off Thomas. Tara takes him with a big smile, drying him, before turning her attention back on him.

"Why?" She asks suspiciously.

"Go check his changing table." Jax says, grinning.

"Oh no." She looks down at the boy wrapped in a fluffy towel in her arms. "What did you do, little one?"

"The pants may not be salvageable." He warns her and she groans.

"What's that smell?" Gemma wonders loudly. Jax nods at Tara's wrinkled nose.

"It's that bad." He confirms, wrapping himself in a towel.

-0-

"It's not that bad." Tig says instantly and Jax wants to put his head down on the table and take a brief, 30 year nap where no one wakes him up with stupid shit.

"It's that bad." Bobby seems amused, in his Bobby way, and it's agitating Tig in a way Jax knows will cause an outburst, but he can't bring himself to stop it.

"We can fix it." Tig reassures him and at that, Jax raises an eyebrow.

"How do you propose we fix this?" He demands and for a second, Tig does nothing but open and close his mouth in a thoughtful manner.

"I don't know actually." He admits finally. "I really, honestly don't know."

"Exactly." Bob states triumphantly. "Admit you fucked up."

"Hey, now if I fucked up, so did you." Tig says heatedly and Jax holds up a hand to quiet them down.

"Do both of you realize," He says quietly, carefully. "What kind of day I'm having?" They look at him guilty. He's sitting in the head chair, having sought out five minutes of peace and quiet to think, just think, for ten minutes about what's going on, before these two idiots had interrupted him with the new that yes, they had in fact accidentally managed to destroy a shop with their drunken stupidity. With everything that's going on lately, Jax is curious as to how they have enough time for drunken stupidity but Tig should never surprise him anymore.

"We'll fix it Jax." Tig says, eager to please. "Honestly."

"Fix it or make it worse?" Jax wonders and Tig glances at Bobby, who's fallen silent.

"Fix it." Tig answers, a little slowly.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Jax asks critically. "Do you have a degree in PR?"

"I'm pretty?" Tig tries and Bobby snorts.

"Go." Jax waves a hand. "Go torture someone. I'll send Juice with a nice fruit basket and some weed. He's innocent and cute. Everyone else, out. I need space to clear my head."

"You ok?" Bobby hangs back as Tig rushes out to go inform Juice of his newest task.

"Fine." Jax says tightly, rubbing his temples. "Only, I have to figure out how to blackmail people, destroy other people's lives, make money running dope and not killing everyone while I'm at it, plus making sure Charming itself doesn't run us out of town because of these idiots."

"You're doing great." Bobby claps him on the back. "It's all good. Keep it up."

 **AN:** Proud to get an update out this week, I've been sick since last Sunday- bronchitis you're a bitch- so leave my sickly self reviews! Thanks for reading.


	59. Season 5- Small World

_What Nero sees in Gemma_

He's always liked working with his hands. It had started when he was young, when he would drive his mother crazy by being in perpetual motion. She'd banish him outside with a raised sandal and a threat, and he would go. From there, the world opened up. He could make forts from old pallets left to rot, swords from branches, soccer balls from old tee shirts and some rubber bands.

Eventually, his mother chased him out of the house and onto the streets one too many times and suddenly he found himself sitting in the backseat of a nice cadillac with his buddies. There was no coming back, and he took to the streets with ease.

For awhile, he was a grunt. A gun carrying thug, pushing drugs, drinking until he was blind, that nature. But he felt like he was missing something, didn't like how the gun felt in his hands. Cars though, cars were different. He liked cars, like taking them apart and putting them back together.

So that's how he got off the streets, so to speak. Got work in a little garage that was a front for the chop shop it truly was. He'd strip cars downs, and then for fun, build some back up. He could modify any make or model. And eventually, half of what he did was legal bodywork, adding in speakers and subwoofers, spinning rims, the likes.

He likes fixer-uppers. The cars, rusted out hunks of junk that only he can see the potential in. A little sister, high and strung out, that he can clean up. A beaten down woman, who once might have been great, now dinged and dusty.

That's why he's drawn to Gemma. Because she's got some good parts, even if they're dented and rusty. She's got potential and he likes that. He likes a challenge. He sees the beauty where others don't. He could fix Gemma, and he finds that he wants to. Because that's who he's been for so many years.

And he likes working with his hands.

* * *

 _Jax disliking but respecting Tig_

Jax hadn't instantly liked Tig. He had come around during Jax's teenage years, and he associated him with Tara, for reasons unknown. Perhaps because he had been one of the many men Tara hadn't known the name of, but was still terrified of.

That, and he was completely loyal to Clay. He'd never known J.T. like Piney or Otto or the rest. He'd only served Clay in the President's chair, and it showed in his unwavering loyalty. It needled Jax, got under his skin that Tig could just so casually mention J.T. as the former pres.

He'd grown on him, after a couple years. It'd taken time, and a lot of alcohol, but after the bitter breakup with Tara, Tig has always been down for self-destructive activities like stunts on their bikes, aggravating bars into fighting for the hell of it, and drinking until even Jax threw up.

He was valuable, in that sense. Always down for some danger. But he liked it, in a way Jax didn't. Jax needed it to forgot, to forget how broken and wretched he felt. Tig did it because he liked trying to kill himself, trying to hurt others, causing mayhem.

He didn't like it, but he respected it, especially his first couple months. There'd been a shooting in a warehouse, full of steel beams for bullets to ricochet off of, corners to turn, hazards at every turn. Tig had grabbed Jax by the shoulder and forced him to the ground before a bullet could hit him in the chest.

Tig, with his casual disregard of death, with his refusal to ever see fear, saved Jax's life, again and again. He'd disarm some guy with a knife, laughing when it gouged him in the side instead of being plunged into Jax's shoulder. He watched his back during fights. He protected him, because they were brothers, and because that was Tig's job.

And he did the things Jax couldn't, or wouldn't do. He could kill a man without blinking, without really asking questions, without needing more. He simply did as told, and felt no guilt afterwards. Jax envied that his life was so simple, so easy, that he never felt torn by the good and the bad in him.

He is disgusted, sometimes, by the things Tig does. Is baffled at how he does them and sleeps. But he knows that a man like Tig is necessary, and there isn't a moment that passes when he isn't glad to have a man like Tig watching his back.

* * *

 _Otto remembering Tara_

"Otto!" Clay bellows and he turns to him with a raised eyebrow. "Get over here."

"What now?" He asks curiously, wandering over. He's only had three shots tonight, compared to everyone else's ten, and it's rather hilarious to be the only relatively sober person in the clubhouse.

"This man," Clay slurs, slinging an arm around Otto's shoulders and using him to stop swaying. "Is married to goddamn pornstar."

"You are?" The kid across from them is wide eyed in astonishment.

"That's the kinda life you can expect here kid." Clay grins widely. "Practically drowning in pussy."

"And booze." Otto observes, taking a sip of beer.

"A lot of booze." Clay agrees seriously.

"Is she hot?" The kid asks Otto eagerly and he snorts.

"Luann!" Clay roars and she detaches from the group of women to strut over, going straight to Otto's side.

"Yeah honey?" She flutters her eyelashes and Otto grins at the kid, who looks like he's going to faint.

"Say hi to a friend." Clay is grinning like a dopey idiot and Luann takes one look at him and rolls her eyes.

"So young." She reaches up and pats the kids cheek, her bubble gum pink nails briefly digging in. "Look like babies."

"I'm not a baby." He insists, having found his voice again.

"Sure sugar." Luann kisses Otto's cheek and pats Clay's chest. Then she saunters away and Gemma takes her place, inspecting the boy.

"Hanging around, huh?" She questions, looking highly unimpressed.

"Um, yes?" He looks terrified that it's not the right answer.

"Huh." Gemma does one last once over and then draws Clay in for a deep, long kiss. Then she swings her hips and is gone.

"Who was that?" The kid asks in awe.

"A league you'll never seen." Otto informs him and then with a nod to Clay, wanders to the outskirts of the party. There, sitting on a picnic table, are two young girls that stand out for their outfits- not because of the amount of skin they're showing, but rather the lack of it.

"Hello." One of the girls, with long hair that is braided down her back, smiles up at him warmly. The other girl looks a little more drawn.

"Hello." He smiles at them and sits down on the table next to them. He doesn't miss how they exchange looks, the smaller of the girls scooting away from him and closer to her friend. "Otto."

"Big Otto or little?" The first girl asks curiously and he chuckles.

"Big. Nice to know you guys know the difference though." He comments, raising his beer in a little toast. These must be the girlfriends of Jax and Opie. He'd spent many an afternoons listening to Gemma bitch to Luann about the slip of a girl who, for the most part, seemed to make Jax a better kid. He's curious to see if Gemma's assumptions are true. "You two must be Tara and Donna."

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Donna looks delighted, while Tara is drawing back, face closed off.

"A little guess." He doesn't bother to list off all the reasons- their outfits, the fruity drinks in their hands, how they hang on the fringe of things, how no one bothers them. It might as well be tattooed on their foreheads. "Having fun?"

"Sure." Donna says and for some reason, she turns and jostles Tara a little. "It's interesting to watch."

"Well, whatcha watching?" He asks, looking out over the party. There's certainly things to see, with two men fighting in the rink, crow eaters spinning on a makeshift pole and giving lap dances by the fire, someone doing a keg stand, and more.

"All of it." Donna gestures widely. "It's all interesting."

"Interesting." Tara mutters and Otto raises an eyebrow, looking at her.

"What would you call it?" He asks her and she looks surprised for a minute, then squares her shoulders and looks at him without fear.

"Stupid." She utters and Donna gives her another sharp elbow to the ribs, but Otto chuckles.

"She's not wrong." He states, taking a long drink of beer. "Where are your boyfriends anyways?"

"Who knows?" Tara scoffs. "Left us here and ran inside."

"They're off talking." Donna's hand curls around Tara's knee and Otto watches in amusement as Tara gives her a look. "They're little social butterflies."

"That they are." Otto sits back and observes as Tara juts her chin up and diverts her eyes. "Still, two pretty ladies like you, sitting here all by their lonesome, seems a shame."

"Then go tell them that." Tara's tone is like a bite and Donna glares at her, but all Otto can do is laugh. Of course Gemma grinds her teeth so much over this girl- she's probably the first female to stand defiantly in front of her.

"Maybe I will." He stands and offers them his hand. "Nice to meet you old ladies." Donna takes it and shakes it, but Tara stares it down without blinking and as he walks away, he chortles. Does Jax have his hands full with that one.

* * *

 _"You're gonna die alone." Rose_

Rose had always spat it like a threat. After over a decade and a half, all of her other barbs had grown dull. She'd commented on Gemma's pudgy nature, so Gemma had slimmed down to a bag of bones, simply out of spite. She'd remark upon Gemma's poop brown eyes, in comparison to Nathanial's bright blue, and Gemma would thickly line them, drawing attention there.

She could snipe at Gemma's grades, and then she'd threaten to drop out. She'd try the unlovable approach, and Gemma would bring home boys and climb atop them, watching as Rose would go red with fury. There was nothing Gemma couldn't handle with a will of steel and gritted determination to drive her mother mad.

But of course, there was always some flaw in the armor, somewhere that she could chip at. She'd stumbled upon it accidentally, during one of her tirades against Gemma's locked door. She'd been out partying, had stumbled home with her skirt around her waist and not even bothering to hide the bottle of Jack in her hand.

Rose had been furious, and let Gemma have it. Nate was gone at a retreat with some of his congregation, and no one was there to tell her to shush, or try to understand, or let Gemma be. So she'd banged on the door and started yelling.

"You are a shame and a disgrace to this family! I cannot stand the sight of you! How dare you embarrass me like this? Your mother? You are a brat, an ugly little witch, and a slut! The devil will come Gemma, and he'll find a match in you!"

"Good!" Gemma's laugh was malicious. "I can't wait! Maybe he'll actually be a better lay than the guy last night, let me tell you mom, a tiny dick that was…"

"Whore." Rose hissed and Gemma hummed some tune.

"I haven't started taking money for sex, mother, I just do it for the pleasure."

"Well, it's be better if you did." The words surprised both her and Gemma, but after a blink Rose went with it, taking advantage of the fact that her daughter was silent. "Then you'd get something in return from the people you call your friends."

"They are my friends and they're my family too, since clearly you have no interest in the job!"

"They are using you Gemma, using you for your body and your money and alcohol and whatever other sinful actives you get into! That's all they want, and the second you won't give that to them, they've leave you! Everyone will leave you and you will die alone."

There is a long pause, so long that Rose wondered if Gemma had snuck out the window using the drain pipe again. Then suddenly the door flew up and Gemma practically exploded through the door. Rose shrank back, startled. Gemma was wild eyed, looking at her with pure rage. For a second, it crossed Rose's mind that Gemma would strike her.

Then Gemma was gone, racing through the house, knocking photos and vases from their hooks and shelves. Devastation followed in her wake, unlike anything Rose had ever seen. It was startling, to see Gemma so unhinged.

It look her a week to come back. When Nate returned from his retreat, Rose lied and said it'd only been a night. She'd never had to bring up her trump card again, because Gemma had left home a couple months later. She'd rarely came home after that, and Rose had never let her see how much it stung.

As she'd lain down in bed, Nate sleeping in the room next door, she realized the horrible irony of her words, all those years ago. Gemma had a devoted husband, an adoring son, and a small army that recognized her as queen. Yet here was Rose, drifting off to sleep in a twin bed in an empty house.

Looks like Gemma had the last laugh once again.

 **AN:** If you want the Otto scene in the flip perspective, head over to A Prayer for SAMCRO! And I just love the disfunction of Gemma and Rose, sue me. Plus Jax and Tig bonding, because I think they're really opposite and similar and fascinating. Digress in reviews please!


	60. Season 5- Toad's Wild Ride

_Favorite time to ride- Jax's Journal_

'My favorite time to ride is during that hazy hour before the sun has truly risen, my sons, that hour you know so well. When you want to be up and moving, when your mom and dad just want to stay in bed. The more I watch you two, how little you sleep, the more I think there are some things that get passed down in genetics besides your blue eyes.

I think that you two will love this time too, more than you already do. That's when the world is still at peace, when the day is still young and bright, when possibilities are endless. You feel refreshed during those hours, no matter if you've just woken up or haven't slept all night.

There is a newness to each and every day my boys. Take time during that to look around and take stock. This is a time to think, truly think, about what you want that day to contain. Good things, bad things, accomplishments, resolutions.

Every day I wake up and think about what I want for the day. It use to be a simple list, my boys. To keep moving. Keep living. Doing what I needed to do. All that has changed, changed because of you two.

Now I think in those early morning hours that I would do anything for you, my sons. How to spend the day keeping you safe, keeping you happy. To make the world a little better today, tomorrow, the days after that, because you deserve good, my sons. You deserve a good world to live in and I will do whatever I have to in accomplishing that.

When you ride during this time, before the rest of the world has woken up and taken to the roads, you're alone. Not like in the middle of the night, where you need to watch your back, careful of the creeping shadows. No, this is a good time. The weak sunlight, the rising temperature, the clearing of your mind.

I have no doubt each of you will find a favorite time to ride. As you should- your habits are your own and I pray you don't get some of mine. But know, my boys, that you will find a time where you feel at peace, calm, serene. And if you find yourself in the early morning hours, the sun peaking up over the hills, cool air in your lungs, and the whole day stretched out before you, I hope you think of me.'

* * *

 _Gemma's thoughts in the motel_

Time is a circle, she reflects. What you've done once, you will do again. Humans have an illusion of progress, thinking that because they are moving forward they are making a difference. They don't realize that they never actually get off the path they've already treaded.

Or maybe it is just Gemma. Maybe she's the only one in the world doomed to make the same decisions as she always has, facing the same consequences, stuck on this hellish merry-go-round of terrible choices, night after night, regardless of the years that have passed.

It's a little depressing, she reflects. She's a little depressing. When she was 16, the whole sneaking off to bars and going back to grimy motels with bad men had been appealing. It'd been rebellious, exciting. It would've given her mother a heart attack and Gemma had relished in it, delighted to cause Rose any type of pain that she could.

But now, it's pathetic. It's pathetic that she can't remember his name, or where her bra is. Where'd she meet him? How'd she meet him? She doesn't remember anything, except that all she'd wanted to do was forget and he had been conveniently close.

She may be making the same choices as teenage Gemma, but decades later; her body isn't handling it as well. She aches, all over. Her head, her stomach, her thighs, everywhere. It's hard to keep the bile in her throat down while trying to prevent her head from splitting in two.

She hates herself though, that hasn't changed. She hates waking up and feeling worthless. Unwanted in the morning light, without the aid of booze to soften her wrinkles and smooth out her sagging skin. She's lived a hard life and it shows, despite her every effort.

Youth is a fickle thing. The Gemma of old might have strutted out of here, eager to flaunt to the world the deed, but this Gemma wants to crawl in the shower and let the hot water scorch the touch of that man off her skin. She wants to go home, even if she doesn't know where home is.

But she can't. Once again, she doesn't have a home, has been kicked out by a bitch with blazing eyes that can see nothing but the way Gemma destroys everything she touches. It is irony at it's finest and Gemma can be nothing but bitter. She just wants to be queen, is that too much to ask?

She was queen, once, but now she's tumbled back to where she started. Some bitch in a motel, screwing anything that buys her a drink and pays her attention. Somewhere, teenage Gemma is shaking her head, disappointed. But oh, how the mighty fall.

* * *

 _"Since when do you drink banana vodka?"_

"Mom." Jax says quietly, standing in the doorway of his little brother's bedroom. Gemma is sprawled over the sheets with her hair covering her face, one hand clenched around a Jack Daniels bottle.

"Mhmm." Gemma grumbles and sighing, Jax walks in to carefully pry the bottle from her fingers.

"C'mon." He encourages, setting it aside. "Let's go to bed."

"No." That gets Gemma's attention and she grabs fistfuls of the bed. Jax catches the glimpse of her glazed eyes and resists the urge to scream.

"You can't sleep here." He says flatly. "You can't sleep in his room."

"Yes I can." Gemma buries her face in the sheets and Jax sinks down next to the bed, rubbing her back.

"Mom, I know it hurts. I know it does. But you have to get up, you have to stop drinking so much whiskey, and you have to sleep in your own bed." He orders, worming an arm underneath her.

"No, no, no, please don't make me." She moans, going limp as Jax pulls her up. She hasn't been eating since Tommy passed away, and Jax is a little alarmed at how light she is.

"You can't be here." He says firmly. "It's not right, you sitting in here and drinking. You're not honoring his memory."

"No, I'm trying to drown it out." With that, Gemma allows herself to be pulled and dragged to her bedroom. Jax lays her down in bed, arranging the blankets on top of her and standing back to look at his handiwork.

"Goodnight mom." He says quietly. "Sweet dreams." With that, he goes to clean up the mess. The bottle is first out of Tommy's room, then the cigarette butts. He carefully straightens out the sheets, fingers lingering just briefly on the baseball glove Tommy had cherished, on the spines of the books he'd read, on the little model Harley. He carefully closes the door.

In the rest of the house he plays a fun game of pulling bottles from Gemma's hiding places. Wine bottles stashed in the bathroom, her drink of choice to start off the morning. Beer in the outside garage fridge, a stash meant for when the guys come over that has been dwindling for days. And the whiskey, for when Gemma wants to forget it all.

Jax cleans house, finding more and more empty bottles, throwing them carelessly into the recycling bin, smiling bitterly when he hears them shatter. It's not enough, but it does a little to sooth his anger.

What 12 year old knows their parents drinking habits so intimately? He muses to himself. What kid knows that dark wine means she's been crying nonstop for a week, and that the cheaper the whiskey, the more she's hurting? Jax could walk into a liquor store and order for her.

He's been around alcohol all his life. There are pictures of little baby Jax, sitting on a biker's knee, chubby fist around the neck of a beer bottle. It's never given him pause before. But he's starting to dread it now, dread the way Gemma seems to need to wake up drunk and carry that on through the day, that she can't stay sober.

So he cleans up the bottles of alcohol, knowing his mother's tastes and preferences, and wishing that he'd never have to smell Jack Daniels in his little brother's room ever again.

* * *

 _"Same thing I always do." Clay and women_

Even his own mother didn't want him.

"Grandma." Clay stops swinging, dragging his feet in the dirt. The cloud of dust rising, the earth scorched and hot from the baking sun that's been beating down for weeks now without a drop of rain to parch it.

"Yes?" She looks over at him from her perch in the shadow of the porch, where she's been reading.

"Can I ask you a question?" He pesters and she sighs heavily.

"I believe you just did.

"Another one." He corrects himself.

"Sure, what is it?" She shuts the book and watches him.

"Where's my mom?" He questions and she scratches her head, like she doesn't quite know how to answer the enquire. So instead, she asks a question of her own.

"Why you asking about this now?" She narrows her eyes at him and so he scuffs his shoes against the earth, gouging it. He doesn't want to tell her about the boys in his class that bully him, taunting him about his rundown house and his grandpa's clunky pickup truck that picks him up every day.

"I dunno." He says slowly. "Just wondering."

"Your mother was a nice girl, Clay." She says carefully and he feels like with her tone of voice, she doesn't really mean it. "She moved here when she was younger, and her and your dad were… Friends."

"Like boyfriend and girlfriend?" He asks. He knows about that, he sees the middle schoolers waiting for the bus that hold hands.

"Yeah, that." His grandma makes a face and he tilts his head, confused. "Well, she was young, when she had you, and some people just aren't ready to be mothers. Or grandmothers."

"So where is she now?" He presses. "You told me my dad's in Reno, but where's my mom?"

"You know, I don't know." His grandma says sharply. "She left you on our doorstep and never once looked back. She never wanted you, hasn't since the moment she got pregnant with you. And your father's no better. She's not coming back, do you know that?"

"Yeah." He looks down at his feet, turned brown with dust. "That's what everyone tells me."

He always pushes women away.

"Hey." He grins at the woman at the bar and she eyes him. He stands still, confident that she'll like what she sees. Women like her always do. Blonde girls, pretty, low cut tops and fruity drinks, they're the kind of girls that are here to disgrace their fathers. And with his biker boots, cigarettes, and tattoos, he does just that.

"Hi." The tall one says boldly, and her two shorter friends snicker behind their hands, but he pays them no mind.

"Whatcha drinking?" He asks, gesturing to her cup.

"Uh, sex on the beach." She says, batting her eyes and he smirks, flagging down the bartender.

"Another sex on the beach for the lady, and another jack and coke for me." He orders, slapping a couple bills on the table and the bartender nods.

"You know, there's a bunch of my friends here." She glances back at the gaggle of girls. "They might like drinks."

"Of course." He says easily. "But I thought the prettiest girl here deserved one first."

"Oh Teresa, are you going to fall for that?" One girl demands impatiently but Teresa is smiling at him.

"I'm Clay." He offers her his hand and she shakes it, smiling.

"Teresa."

"I've gathered." He grins as her friends retreat, muttering darkly and rolling their eyes.

"Sorry about them." She waves a hand. "They don't exactly approve of…" She gestures to his chest and he looks down at his kutte.

"Of me?" He guesses and she makes a face, taking her drink from the bartender.

"Of your friends." She says carefully and he laughs.

"Yeah, believe it or not, I get that a lot." He informs her.

"I can imagine." She takes a sip. "So tell my about yourself Clay."

"Just a guy." He says easily, smiling. He doesn't tell her about the mother that abandoned him, about the grandparents that resented him, about the failing out of school, the leaving home, the odd jobs and lost years, the drugs, alcohol, or the events that lead him to Charming. He doesn't even tell her about his service or why he's in the club. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know." She smiles and rambles, confirming all his suspicions. A good girl, the kind that wouldn't be caught dead here usually, on a rebellious kick, looking for a little bit of danger and adventure. When she excuses herself to the bathroom, he's fairly confident he's got everything in the bag.

"You have a type." John's voice is chiding and Clay turns to him, grinning.

"I do not." He says shamelessly.

"Always after the girl that shouldn't be here." John points out and Clay shrugs.

"So I like a challenge. Is that wrong?"

"I suppose not." With a grin, John claps his back. "See you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah." Clay watches as the girl wanders back to him. "Tomorrow." With a chuckle, John disappears back into the crowd.

"Who was that?" Teresa asks curiously.

"Best friend." Clay finishes his drink and looks her up and down once. "You ready to finally ride a bike?"

"Sure." She grins and follow him out of the bar. The next morning when he wakes up, his head is pounding and all he wants is some orange juice. He pokes the blonde in the bed beside him.

"Hey." He says roughly. "Hey, get up. You have to go."

"What?" She mutters, blinking at him.

"Leave." He orders. "Go away. Goodbye. Scoot. Scram. How many more ways you want me to say it?"

"Wow, ass." She huffs, getting out of bed and yanking her clothes on. "Jerk. Dick." She keeps muttering insults as he yawns.

"Later Tammy." He calls and she stares at him, aghast.

"Teresa!"

"Ok." He waves a hand and then gets up. He really does want orange juice.

Not even the only woman he's ever loved can stand him forever.

He looks at Gemma and everything hurts. Not in the 'I've just been shot' kind of way, but with a deep, deep ache that makes him want to sit down and take deep breathes. He misses her. He's never been separated from her for so long, not since they got together.

Sure, prison and all that. But even then, he still had her love. Her letters and phone calls, occasionally a visit. He's never been completely cut off from her before, even if it shouldn't come as a surprise.

He's too old, he realizes. No one ever taught him love as a child, not the mother that walked out on him or the grandma that resented him. No one ever loved him, and now he's too old to learn how to love. All he knows is power and how to take it, how to rip it away from someone with his fists or a gun.

But god, Gemma. He thought he loved Gemma. Maybe it was always lust, maybe it was always about the power and the sex. But all he wants now is the comfort of her, her body resting next to him at night, the way she gives him injections, her cooking, everything.

But of course he scared her. Pushed her away. No one has ever wanted him, not even the woman that carried him in her womb for nine months. Gemma is by far the longest he's ever been with a woman, and now she's gone, because of him.

He wants to be angry about it. He wants to rage and throw things and injure himself even worse, because then she'll feel pity and guilt and she'll come home. But he can't do that, because that is a young man's game, and he's been beaten by the world and by Jax and by everything.

He wishes he could go back and do things differently. He would love her, cherish her, he wouldn't let his cowardice and fear get in the way. He would be good, he'd be better for her. He wouldn't scare her, he wouldn't be such a damn monster.

But he's Clay Morrow, and who has ever wanted him?

 **AN:** Oh hey, I kind of fell in love with writing Jax's journals, hmmm... Leave me reviews?


	61. Season 5- Ablation

_Gemma to the paramedics_

"Ma'am." This crazy bitch won't settle down and it's pissing Reyes off. He's already had a long shift and now he's dealing with a hysterical grandma who won't answer his damn questions. "I need you to calm down."

"Abel. Abel. Where are they taking him?" She strains against him, trying to push past him, but he keeps his hands firmly on her shoulders. If he lets her interfere with the kid's care, he'll getting bitched out by everyone and after the kind of day he's had, he's over that.

"Ma'am, they're taking him to the hospital." He tries to reassure her, but this only seems to make her worse and she starts pounding on his chest, hard. "Ma'am, please!"

"Oh, Abel, my baby, my baby, my baby." She wails. "Is he ok? What's wrong? Is he dead?"

"Ma'am." He catches her wrists after a brief struggle and forces her to look at him firmly.

"I need to help him." She moans.

"That's what we're here for." He reminds her. "But I need to help you too. Can you tell me your name?"

"Gemma." She whispers, eyes fixated on the ambulance the little boy is disappearing into.

"Ok, Gemma, that's good. Gemma, where were you heading?" He asks, trying to get her attention.

"Home. I was taking them home." She suddenly goes wild again. "Thomas! Thomas! Where's Thomas?"

"The baby?" He clarifies.

"Yes, Thomas, my Thomas! Where is he?" She screams and Linda, another paramedic, hurries over with a little boy secured in her arms. Gemma goes limp when she sees him.

"Is he your grandson?" Reyes asks and Gemma nods, whimpering.

"Is he ok?"

"Fine." Linda says quickly, bouncing the boy. He watches them with an impassive expression. "Perfect health. Good car seat."

"And Abel?" Gemma's reaching for the little boy, but Linda keeps him firmly out of reach.

"We need to make sure you're not hurt." Reyes reminds her, noting all the nicks and cuts on her.

"I'm fine!" She snaps. "I need to see Abel, I need to make sure he's ok, do you understand me?"

"Gemma." He looks at her, eyes flashing. He's at the end of his rope, especially with her. The kid would be fine if she hadn't crashed, but he bites his tongue and resumes trying to check her. "It is my job to make sure you aren't seriously injured. Once I've done that, I can release you and you can see him."

"Then hurry up and check me." She orders, finally stopping her struggling and he grits his teeth.

"Trying to." Is the only remark he lets himself make. As he continues to inspect her, the radio on Linda's hip crackles to life, their counterparts in the ambulance talking to dispatch.

"He's flat lining." The words send Gemma into a pure, unbridled panic and Reyes, without remorse, sedates her so she can't hurt herself any worse. As she's packed into a second ambulance, he catches Linda's eyes as she secures the baby in a car seat.

"Hell of a night." He mutters, rubbing his eyes. "You taking the little guy to the hospital?"

"Yeah, that's where his parents are waiting." She slams the door and glances him over. "Shift done?"

"Yeah, I'm going the hell home and taking a hot shower and going to bed." He declares. "I'm over this shit."

* * *

 _Tara getting the call- "It's my babies." Cabin-hospital_

She sits heavily on the bed, exhausted in a bone-deep way. She just wanted a nice weekend with Jax. A getaway, from Charming and Gemma and the club and all the nonsense. Even their boys. They could spend a weekend in bed, wrapped in each other's arms. It'd be like they were teenagers again.

She groans and rubs her temples. Instead, she gets a crash, a dead guy in the back of her car, and operation in the living room of the cabin. All of it is a little surreal, but it's also the norm of her life and she's not sure which is worse. All she wants is a romantic weekend.

Her phone chimes and she fishes it out, frowning when she sees the number for St. Thomas. They know it's her weekend off. It must be an emergency, or at least serious for them to call her. With a sigh, because it seems strange to talk to her work when there's a dead guy not ten feet away, she answers.

"This is Dr. Knowles."

"Tara." Margaret sounds worried and Tara's fists clench involuntarily. "You need to come to St. Thomas right now."

"I'm off, you know that." Tara glances at the door, hearing the muffled voices of Jax and Tig talking. "Jax and I are having a weekend to ourselves. Whatever it is, can it wait?"

"No." Margaret says firmly and Tara opens her mouth to argue, but Margaret's next words take her breath away. "It's your boys."

"Thomas? Abel? What happened?" She demands, rising.

"There was a car accident. Gemma swerved off the road, hit a tree. Paramedics brought them in." Margaret explains and a half scream, half sob bursts from Tara's mouth.

"My babies?" She can't even get the proper words out, because her brain can't function. A million thoughts are running through her head. She shouldn't have trusted Gemma; that was stupid. Of course she did something. She hurt her sons. Her boys.

"Tara, Thomas is ok, but Abel… You and Jax need to get here, and quickly. I'm so sorry but—"

"We'll be there in ten minutes." Tara states, disregarding the fact that the cabin is nearly half an hour out of town.

"Ok, we'll see you soon. I can fill you in then." Margaret assures her and Tara grabs her things, hanging up. She bursts into the living room, completely disregarding the dead body on the floor, hands severed from his body. If she'd been in a different state of mind, she'd have questioned why they removed his hands, but right now there's only one thing that matters. Her boys.

"We have to go." She declares, heart pounding. Tig tries to cover the body, which is an oddly sweet gesture, she thinks distractedly. But she's seen more dead bodies than all of them.

"What happened?" Jax looks at her, alarmed. He can tell, by the wildness in her eyes, that this is serious.

"It's my babies." She's already moving for the door, uncaring if they follow her or not. They can deal with the dead body later. Right now, nothing will stand between her and her sons.

"Tara!" Jax follows her out, running after her. "What happened? The boys, are they ok?"

"They're at St. Thomas." She throws her things in the backseat and then climbs into the driver's seat. Jax scrambles for the other side and he's hardly slammed the door when she's tearing out of the driveway.

"They're at the hospital?" Jax asks, startled. "What for? What happened? Are they ok?"

"Gemma crashed." The words are wrenched from Tara's mouth bitterly and Jax falls silent for a moment.

"Jesus Christ." He mutters, rubbing his temples. "Did the hospital say anything else? If they're hurt?"

"Thomas isn't." That's the only fact that's keeping her from spiraling into a wild abyss of panic, keeping her focused on the road and her head remotely clear, with a purpose in mind.

"And Abel?" Jax sounds pained.

"Margaret didn't say, just said to get there." Her hands are trembling and she can feel tears pinpricking in her eyes, but she must keep herself together. Jax slumps in the seat beside her.

"And my mom?" He asks her and Tara has to keep herself from her snarling ferociously.

"Didn't ask." With that, Jax lets them lapse into silence, the wilderness whipping by and morphing into town. Tara ignores all traffic signs and speed laws, flying through town towards St. Thomas. When they squeal to a stop in the parking lot, Tara leaves the car running and sprints for the doors.

"Tara." Margaret is waiting for her, Thomas in her arms and Tara breaks down sobbing, snatching her son and cradling him close. Jax, a couple steps behind her, grabs her and pulls her into his arms, one large head on Thomas's head, kissing him gently.

"Abel?" Tara turns her tear-streaked face to Margaret.

"Right this way." Margaret turns to lead them into the hospital and Tara looks at Jax, eyes wide with fear. He slips his hand into hers and gives it a squeeze, hurrying after Margaret.

* * *

 _Abel and hospitals in the future_

'Ah, well, this is gonna hurt like a bitch.' Abel thinks, as the gunshot rings out and a breath later, wet, hot pain explodes in his right side.

"Abel!" Ken grabs him, dragging him back to relative safety and Abel keeps his hand pressed to his side, feeling the blood spilling over his fingers in a vague, detached sort of way.

"I got shot." He glances down at the blood, surprised.

"You're fine." Bowen says bracingly. "Just sit tight."

"Won't go anywhere." Abel jokes weakly then groans, as the pain seems to double. "Fuck, this hurts."

"You got shot, what were you expecting, sunshine and roses?" Quinn demands, standing to shoot again.

"Maybe a unicorn or two." Abel responds, trying to keep himself from going into shock futilely. "Think I might pass out. Sorry guys." Then the whole world goes black and there's no more pain.

When he comes back around, he's in the clubhouse. He blinks a couple times, trying to understand. After a second, the faces of Piper and Willow swim into view, both concerned. When Willow sees that his eyes are opened she gasps in relief and grabs his hand.

"Hi baby." She whispers, using her other hand to brush his hair back from his face. "Hey."

"Hi love." He coughs and wincing when pain sparks, but his chest feels like it's been constricted.

"Here, these will help." Piper offers him a couple white pills and Abel attempts to sit up but Willow prevents him.

"Wait." She turns and grabs a glass of water for him. "Drink this too. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot." He mutters, swallowing the pills with some water. "Did you guys patch me up?"

"Yeah, thank god Maci was here." Willow looks at the short nurse who's hugging Ken tightly with reverence. "She said it's a light graze, you'll be fine. She got a bandage on you, but I still think we should take you to a hospital."

"No." He says, a little too firmly and Willow gives him a strange look. Piper glances between the two.

"I'm gonna go make a prospect clean your blood out of the van." He mutters and then dashes away.

"What's his deal?" Abel asks, trying to deflect from the conversation that he knows they're going to have.

"Abel, why don't you like hospitals?" She questions, running her fingers through his hair.

"Hospitals are fine." He lies. "Just don't want to draw attention to me. I'm not scared of them or anything."

"Abel." She's stroking his hair and kissing his forehead soothingly. "Abel, you just got shot."

"I'm fine." The drugs are making him sleepy, but at least the pain seems to be receding.

"Honey. Please tell me." Willow's voice breaks, just slightly. "Please, I almost lost you today."

"No, never." Abel draws her into her chest, rubbing her back. "You'll never lose me, Wills. I'm always going to protect you, remember?"

"I just…" Willow takes a deep breath, carefully winding her arms around him, mindful of his injury. "I want to hear your voice. I want to hear you talk, know you're still here."

"You know how to get things out of me, don't you?" He mutters, closing his eyes and breathing in Willow's scent.

"Please."

"Fine. I don't like hospitals because I spent so much time there." He mutters, rubbing her back in long, slow circles. "I remember when I was a kid, all the times I had to go there, checkups, accidents, that kind of stuff. I guess it still sits with me, reminds me of that stuff."

"You don't like them. You're scared of them." She states and he gives a tiny shrug, not denying it.

"I guess they make me feel weak. I've had to struggle since the day I was born. I don't want to need hospitals. I don't want to go there and have people prod and probe things and talk about my scars. I don't need it." He explains drowsily, not sure if it makes sense.

"Promise me though, that if you ever get hurt, really hurt, you'll go there." Willow pleads.

"Sure Wills." He's fighting off sleep now, losing the battle but he wants to at least give her that reassurance. He doesn't tell her that it's a lie, that the sight of imposing brick buildings strikes him with anxiety and agitation, that he can't explain why dread pools in his stomach at the clean, chemical smell, any of it. But Willow needs reassurance and her weight is pleasant against his chest, so he lies and rubs her back and drifts off to sleep.

* * *

 _Lyla's bullet scar_

Lyla stops and glances in the mirror, sighing and looking at her body for a moment. She's not getting any younger, she knows this, but she hasn't really taken in the fact that she's aging, things are starting to sag and wrinkle in ways they haven't ever done before.

Thank god she's not in front of the camera anymore, she muses, It doesn't matter in the director's chair if her boobs aren't as perky anymore or if her ass is more dimpled than it would be if she'd actually stick to doing her squat workout on a daily basis.

She runs her hands over her body, pausing at all the scars and marks she's acquired through the years. All the stories she had, told on her skin. Stretch marks from pregnancy, scars from childhood, scars from adulthood. All reminders of the life she's lived.

She tears herself away from the mirror and goes to get dressed. No use dwelling on the past. She's got a date tonight, for the first time in a long time, with a guy that she actually likes. It could be a disaster like they normally are- does anyone really want a former pornstar with kids? She's got a good feeling about this one though, and so she gets dressed.

"You look good." Ellie comments, sliding into her room and sitting on the bed. Lyla smiles at her through the mirror.

"You think?" She twists, trying to get a glimpse of her back in the mirror. Ellie nods firmly.

"Yeah. Gonna wear the red heels or black?" She asks and Lyla looks between her two choices.

"Red, you think?" She wonders.

"Try on one of each." Ellie says and Lyla steps carefully into the heels of two different heights then stands before Ellie.

"Is the black too much?" Lyla wonders, glancing down.

"No, and they make your ass look great." Ellie declares, grinning as Lyla frowns at her.

"Ellie, language." She kicks off the red heel and replaces it with the other black one, grabbing her purse.

"You look good." Ellie remarks, nodding in approval and Lyla inspects herself one last time in the mirror.

"You think?" She narrows her eyes critically.

"Of course." Ellie nods her approval.

"Are you sure you're good to watch your siblings tonight?" Lyla asks her, refreshing her lipstick.

"I can make a pizza." Ellie quips and Lyla rolls her eyes, stuffing the lipstick in her purse and ducking to press her forehead to Ellie's.

"You're a good girl." She whispers and when she leans back, Ellie has a sad little smile.

"Thanks. Have a good date mom." Lyla smiles, just a little, at the words then goes hurrying out the door.

"Be good for your sister!" She yells, slamming the door. She arrives at the bar, looking around nervously. A tall man with short hair and a ready smile flags her down and she takes a deep breath, plastering a smile on her face and heading for him.

"No, seriously, you're the most interesting woman I've met!" He remarks and she laughs, throwing her head back. They're three drinks in and she is relaxed, nearly giggly.

"I am not." She shakes her head, grinning.

"Yes, you are." He watches her appreciatively, grinning. "You have more stories than anyone I know. I bet you could tell me them, right now."

"Well then ask away." She takes another sip of her drink.

"You drink vodka. Why?" He asks and Lyla chuckles.

"Gave up whiskey." She reveals. "You can only throw up Jack so many times before even the smell of it makes you queasy."

"Fair enough." His eyes sparkle and he runs his fingers over an old scar on her leg. "And this one?"

"I was shot." The words leave her lips before she can stop them and he looks at her, a little alarmed. She clams up, downing her drink so that she doesn't have to say anything.

"Seriously?" He asks and she sighs.

"Yes." She admits.

"Can I ask how?" He says slowly and she thinks of a hundred things to tell him rather than the truth. That when she worked as an escort for her dead-husband's best friend's mom's boyfriend, she'd been shot by a member of the motorcycle club her head husband was a member of?

"Wrong place, wrong time." She says, instead. He nods, but after that, the date loses it's sparkle and when he leaves her with a kiss and nothing more, she sighs because she knows he'll never call again. She heads home, carefully unlocking the front door and sliding in. She checks on her sleeping kids then sits down on her head heavily, sighing. Another one unable to handle her past. Dejected, she gets up and slides out of her dress, catching a glance of herself in the mirror again.

So many scars, she observes tiredly. So many memories and so few of them good. Then she draws herself up to her full height proudly. But men be damned. She's proud of herself. She's proud of her past. It gave her the wonderful kids sleeping a couple doors down; it's made her who she is.

Bullet scars and all.

 **AN:** My notes at the end of this episode say 'STOP GIVING CHIBS HEAD INJURIES'. Hey, also, reviews are great, cause they make me smile, and if I could have more of them, awesome.


	62. Season 5- Andare Pescare

_Cookie blooper_

"Did you steal all the cookies?" Jax teases Abel, who laughs and shakes his head, clutching the cookie close to his chest. "Did you?"

"No." He giggles, sneaking another bite.

"I think you did." Jax tries to steal one. "How many you got dude? Three? Four?"

"One." Abel insists. "Just one."

"One?" Jax pretends to be stunned. "I don't think you know how to count little dude because that is not one."

"I can count." Abel insists. "One, two, three, five, ten,"

"Ok, ok, ok." Jax cuts him off, laughing. "You can keep all ten cookies, fine."

"Here." Abel offers him one, eyes bright and Jax graciously accepts, nibbling on it.

He's just relieved, deep in his bones, that Abel is awake and sitting up, laughing and giggling again. The nurses had made their rounds shortly after he'd woken up and his son's big, bright eyes had insured that he'd received half a dozen.

But Abel is awake, and laughing, and eating cookies. He is ok, he is safe. Jax spent the first months of Abel's life terrified and worried about his firstborn, and he wishes to never feel like that again. Abel, his small figure in a hospital bed, flashes Jax back to all the awful memories.

Tara is off changing Thomas, once again his rock. She'd switched to doctor Tara the instant they'd entered the hospital, talking procedures and vitals and dosages. Jax had left her to it. This is her kingdom, her domain. He's trusted her with Abel since almost before he was born, and it makes sense to do it again.

She'd kept him sane through the surgery and afterwards, when they'd been sprouting of percentages and long words that hadn't made sense to him. She'd rubbed his back and kissed his forehead and muttered reassuring words. And when Abel had woken up, she'd signaled for the nurses and their cookies.

"Have another cookie." Jax offers his back to Abel, who laughs and shakes his head. Jax watches him, grinning, because his son is here, and well, and all the darkness in Jax's life melts away at the sight of Abel and a chocolate chip cookie.

* * *

 _"Married to a felon." The other doctors talking about Tara_

"Alright, tell me about everyone." Dr. Granger requests, casting her eye over the cafeteria. Dr. Seveg chuckles while Dr. Perez looks thoughtful. "If I'm going to work her, I better know all the alliances and enemies."

"We're a small hospital." Seveg says demurely.

"Doesn't mean there isn't drama." Granger remarks and Perez nods, scoping everyone out.

"Well, rumor has it a nurse down in cardiac is sleeping with his doctor, but…"

They've almost exhausted everyone in the cafeteria when a small woman walks in, a baby bouncing on her hip, smiling and ordering a salad and a slice of pizza. Granger watches her, noting the cast on her hand and her apparent ease.

"What about her?" She asks, discretely pointing to her.

"Oh." Perez and Seveg exchange looks and Granger frowns, looking between the two of them.

"Well?" She demands.

"That is Dr. Tara Knowles." They explain. "Don't mess with her. Don't talk to her. Avoid all interaction if you can."

"Don't look her in the eye. Do as she says. She asks you to do something you can't do, find the person that can. Don't second guess her."

"Seriously?" Granger frowns at the sight of the woman juggling her food and the baby. "She a witch or what? She seems pretty… Plain."

"She's married to a felon." Perez reveals. "Jax Teller, head of a motorcycle club here. Runs the town, everyone knows it, they just don't talk about it. See that baby? His second kid, her first."

"Why's he such a big deal?" Granger pushes and Seveg sighs.

"The MC runs Charming, we all know it. Rumor has it she threatened to shoot a nurse for not doing what she asked. Everyone knows her husband would hide the body."

"Seriously?" She looks at the woman with renewed respect and a little distain as she leaves, balancing the pizza on top of the salad. "So you just sit here and take it?"

"We have to." Perez says flatly. "No other choice. We all like our jobs, so it's best just to keep your head down and stay out of her way."

"Crazy." Dr. Granger frowns, then briefly shakes her head and turns to the next group of people. "Ok, who's the redhead?"

* * *

 _How Juice sees Clay_

He never had a father as a kid. It'd never bothered him, because his mother's explanation had been that she'd created him with all the love in her heart. It had made sense, at the time, and the gap left by his dad had been filled with his grandma and the rest of his family.

But that gap become more pronounced as he'd gotten older, kids more likely to tease him on the playground. His mom had tried to answer his questions carefully and delicately, but it'd been futile. By the time he hit middle school, he was angry and bitter at this mystery man who'd never bothered to stick around and meet his son.

He'd stumbled upon the MC in his desire to fit and belong. That had been his main goal, just finding someplace that he felt like he could call home. That had been here, in Charming, with his brothers.

To anyone outside the club, it probably looked strange. There are no kind words in the club, no pats on the back or good jobs. There's yelling, drinking, smoking, occasional physical violence, and a lot of hard work. Especially for prospects, getting the shit jobs and grunt work. There's no complaining, especially not within earshot of the president.

Juice likes Clay though. He reminds Juice of a father, most likely because only a few years separate Juice and Jax. Clay jokes around with him, gives him shit for stupid decisions, his choice in alcohol and women, scoffs at Juice's upgrades to his bike, rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

He's his dad, the dad he never had. Prickly, but in the best way. Quick to call him a dumbass and quicker to punch the lights out of anyone who tries to fuck with him. So it's strange to see Clay, who's always been a force of nature in his eyes, weak and vulnerable. It feels wrong, to be taking care of Clay, instead of the other way around.

He doesn't see Jax as his president. Logically, he knows he is. He sits at the head of the table, calls the shots, bangs the gavel, and commands them. But emotionally, it's still Clay that Juice goes to for approval, for reassurance, for guidance. He can't deny that Clay is the closest thing he has to a father. And Juice still craves that, no matter what.

* * *

 _Gemma's only happy with the 4 boys_

"It's a secret, right?" Tommy asks Jax worriedly and Jax nods seriously, trying to keep the glue in a straight, smooth line. "A surprise?"

"Yeah, we're the only ones that know." Jax reminds him. "Are you going to keep the secret?"

"Yes." Tommy says, a little unsurely.

"Good." Jax slaps the lopsided heart on the streak of glue and presses it down firmly, smoothing out the little pockets of air that arise as best he can.

"That's a lot of hearts." Tommy observes and Jax grins.

"Mom's a girl. Girls like hearts and pink and stuff." He informs him and Tommy takes a moment for that to sink in.

"Really?" He asks skeptically. Even at only 5 years old, he understands that his mother is different from all the other moms in his kindergarten class.

"I don't know." Jax rolls his eyes. "But she'll like it, I know she will."

"Ok." Tommy trusts his big brother completely, so he let's Jax put a couple more hearts on the paper.

"Wanna do one?" Jax offers and Tommy nods eagerly, taking the glue bottle and trying to keep his lines as neat and straight as Jax's, but it proves impossible. Still, once he's got the heart on it, it's only slightly messier than the dozen Jax had placed.

"There." He says triumphantly. "All done."

"Think it's enough?" Jax eyes the paper critically and Tommy nods firmly. "Alright, if you say so. Here, I'll write it out then you can sign your name, ok?"

"Ok." Tommy watches as Jax carefully writes out a message in his best handwriting, marveling at the way his big brother can make the letters so neat. He's got writing his own name down, but not much further than that yet.

"There." Jax holds up the paper, reading it aloud. "Happy Mom Day. We love you. Love Jax and Tommy."

"Where do I put my name?" Tommy asks impatiently, grabbing the black marker Jax had been using.

"Here." Jax points to the open space beneath his own writing and Tommy sticks his tongue out, trying to carefully write out a T, then an O, then two Ms…

"Good?" He asks Jax, when he's finally completed the Y. Jax takes in the wobbly, large letters with a critical eye, but it's spelled correctly, so he can't really complain.

"Perfect." He declares. "Now c'mon, we'll hide it in my room."

"When are we gonna give it to her?" Tommy tags along behind Jax, who pokes his head into the living room to check that their babysitter, a woman named Diamond, is still watching TV.

"At supper." Jax decides, the two boys sneaking to Jax's room. "And make sure you say thank you when we're done, cause it's a special day."

"Ok." Tommy watches as Jax places the card under his pillow. "Can we go plays cars now?"

"Fine." Jax relents and Tommy beams. His big brother doesn't always play with him anymore, and he knows this is a treat.

When Gemma gets home and sends Diamond off, Tommy nearly blurts out the secret, but a sharp look from Jax cuts him off. Instead, he plays with his toys until Gemma calls them up for supper.

"Thanks!" He says, as he scrambles into his chair. Gemma looks surprised, but beams at him and gives him an extra big scoop of mac and cheese. He eats happily, sneaking looks at Jax, who looks supremely calm. Meanwhile, he can't quit squirming with anticipation.

"Thanks for supper mom." Jax says, kissing her cheek once he's cleaned his plate.

"You're most welcome sweetheart." Gemma smiles at the both of them.

"Can I go get it now?" Tommy bursts impatiently.

"Sure." Jax grins at him and Tommy sprints for Jax's room, snatching the paper from under the pillow, running back to the kitchen.

"What's this?" Gemma asks, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"For you!" Tommy explains and she takes the card, reading it silently.

"Oh, you guys." She says quietly and Jax grins.

"Happy Mother's Day, mom."

"Come here." Gemma grabs both of them and hugs them to her chest tightly. "Oh my boys, my sweet boys. Thank you. I love it."

"Even if it's pink?" Tommy asks, mostly to her shoulder, and Gemma laughs outright.

"Yes, I love it." She repeats, letting them go and looking back down at the pink heart covered paper, with the black scribbles on it. "It's the best present ever."

"You're welcome." Tommy says happily. She likes the hearts, of Jax was right. His big brother is so smart.

 **AN:** Thanks for everyone who reviews so frequently, it really is a day maker. Hey first time reviewers, I'd love to meet ya.


	63. Season 5- Crucifixed

_Jax teaching Tara to drive_

"Get in the truck." Jax orders and Tara stares at the rusty pickup worriedly.

"I don't need to learn." She insists and Jax, sitting in the passenger seat, looks ready to slump over in exhaustion.

"Truck Tara, now." He says firmly. "You're learning to drive. You're birthday is in a couple months, you need to actually practice."

"No, I'll be fine. You drive anyways. I don't need to learn." She declares and Jax fixes her with a stern glare.

"You do, and you're going to. Get in the truck Tara."

"What if I hit something?" She protests and Jax looks around at the empty field he's brought them to.

"The trees will forgive you."

"What if I damage the truck?" She tries.

"Worse than Op and I already have?" He snorts. "10 bucks if you can."

"What if I crash and hurt us?" It's a last ditch effort, and Jax is having none of it.

"Get in the truck Tara, you're learning to drive, today!" He yells and grumbling, Tara climbs in, slamming the door and clicking her seatbelt on. "Ok." Jax smooths back his hair.

"What do I do?" Tara carefully puts her hands on the wheel, taking a deep breath and trying to relax.

"Foot on the brake, that's how you're going to start it." Jax tries not to sound amused, but a smirk is pulling at the corners of his mouth. Tara glances at her feet then shifts.

"Ok." She says, a little bit more confidently and Jax sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"Tara, you can't have your left foot on the brake and your right foot on the gas. It's right foot for both." He says patiently.

"What? Why?" She demands angrily. "That doesn't make any sense. Two pedals, two feet, it works."

"Well, that's not how it works." Jax pats her shoulder. "So, I don't know, tuck your left foot up on the seat or something, but you can't use it. Now, right foot on the brake, press down."

"Fine." Tara huffs and does as told.

"Turn the key. That's how you turn it on."

"Well I know that." She snaps and Jax puts his hands up, watching her. She turns the key and with a dying groan, the truck sputters to life.

"Ok, now this thing can only go like ten miles per hour, but you're going to have to be carefully with how much pressure you put on the gas, got it?" He enquires and she nods, white knuckling the steering wheel. "Ok, put it in drive."

"How?" She gives him an imploring look and Jax bites back laughter.

"Here." He taps the stick and Tara grabs it. "You see what you're on. Park, reverse, neutral, drive, low. Those are the basics."

"Prindle." Tara states and Jax looks at her in bewilderment. "That's what they spell out."

"Sure." He shakes his head. "Now, you're only going to use park, reverse, and drive. Keep your foot on the brake, shift into drive."

"Now what?" Tara asks, once she's in drive.

"Ease up off the brake." Jax says carefully, bracing himself again the dashboard. "And slowly- slow! -start putting pressure on the gas."

"I got this." Tara mutters and hits the gas, hard. The truck bounces across the field, Jax shrieking the entire way.

"Tara, brake, brake, brake, BRAKE TARA THE BRAKE!"

"WHICH FOOT?"

"RIGHT FOOT, ALWAYS- FUCK, LEFT FOOT! BRAKE!"

The truck comes to a stop amongst a cloud of dust and Jax briefly chokes on it, squinting. Tara is shaking in the drivers seat, wide eyed and gasping. Jax stares at her, amazed, then bursts into laughter.

"Jax!" She cries. "This isn't funny! I could've killed us."

"Do you know how many times Opie and I have tried to get this truck up to those speeds?" He demands, through tears of mirth. "Tara, that was impressive."

"That was terrifying. I'm not going to do this." Shaking, Tara unbuckles. Jax sobers up, grabbing her wrist.

"No, no, I'm sorry for laughing." He says sweetly. "Please stay. Here. We can try again. You just have to be gentle."

* * *

 _Tara as a mother_

She hates herself. She hates that she's here, in Thomas's room. He's fast asleep, dreaming of sweet things, not of blood and murder and a future that's only fire. He is an innocent thing, and she should let him be.

But she can't. How many nights did she rock him to sleep, half asleep herself, praying that he'd go down easily, without a fight, only for him to wake up? She had been delirious with exhaustion, telling herself that it will get better.

Now he's sleeping through the night, a good little boy, and she's here, watching him sleep, and she's got a powerful need to stomp on the toys on the floor, the same ones she once crept over. He needs to wake up, cry, want his mother. She needs to be needed.

So she does it, hating herself even as it happens, hating how his cries split the air and she's there in a heartbeat, scooping him up and hushing him. His little arms go around her neck, his cries subsiding as she mutters to him that she's there.

She's there. She's needed. He needs her. Loves her. Wants her. And it's the most powerful drug on the planet, the being needed and wanted by this tiny soul, who's life depends on her. His whole world is her. He is hers, and no one can ever tell her different.

She is a mother, clinging to her son, needing his reassurance as much as he needs hers, and she hates herself. This is something Gemma would do, and Tara is acutely aware of it. It makes her furious, and yet she is unable to stop.

* * *

 _"Your father?" "Stepfather."_

"You know, it's just fucking complicated." Jax mutters to Opie, pacing. Opie reclines in his bed, reading a magazine, utterly indifferent to Jax's plight.

"Yeah." He agrees, rather absentmindedly.

"And like it's weird. Like, my mom and Clay? That's weird right?"

"Sure."

"And it doesn't make sense. And it's complicated and messed up, right?"

"Yeah."

"Like, what do I even call him?"

"Dad." Opie looks at him, grinning, and Jax glares at him angrily. "What, I'm trying to be helpful."

"You're being a dick." Jax states frankly.

"Can't you ramble about this to Tara?" Opie complains.

"Tara's in school." Jax reminds him and Opie huffs, dropping the magazine so it covers his face. "Beside, you're the only one who gets this. Tara just, I don't know, tries to tell me to put on a happy smile and ignore it all."

"Jax, I don't know, he's your stepdad. Why can't you just leave it at that?" Opie questions and Jax huffs, flopping down on his bed beside him.

"Because it seems weird to think of him that way." He admits, staring at the ceiling. "Because he was uncle Clay for so long, then he was my mom's boyfriend, but now that they're married, it just seems… Different."

"Because your mom is Gemma Teller-Morrow." Opie reminds him and Jax flinches at the name, still not use to it yet.

"Yeah, but I'm still just Jax Teller." He pauses, musing on his name for a minute. "She wouldn't give up Teller cause she didn't want me to feel like an orphan, you know?"

"Makes sense." Opie says, thinking about all the times Donna and Tara have remarked that Gemma is the only parent that actually wants her child.

"Stepdad." Jax tries out the word, looking a little disgusted when it rolls off his tongue.

"You could call him daddy." Opie suggests innocently and narrowly dodges Jax's fist.

"No." He says venomously.

"Kidding." Opie sits up and meanders to the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer for a pizza.

"You are not." Jax mutters, following him, still sulking. "It's just, he's not my dad."

"No, he's your stepfather." Opie turns on the oven and grabs a beer out of the fridge, tossing one to Jax. "Fuck, now you have two adults in your life that actually give a shit about you. That's more than the rest of us strung together."

"My mom thinks you're her kid." Jax deflects. "And Clay's as much your uncle as he is mine."

"Except he's not my stepfather." Opie cracks the beer and drinks half of it in one go.

"Ok, we're moving off that topic." Jax decides. "You got a supreme pizza or just pepperoni?"

"You want a supreme, you go out and buy one yourself."

* * *

 _"Who are you?" How Jax changed_

"Jesus Christ." T.O. mutters, looking at the kids that get off the bikes across the warehouse. He calls them kids because they can't be older than 22 or 23, grinning and laughing. The lead boy, with long blond hair and blue eyes, seems to swagger over to him with the confidence and ease of someone who is never told no. The two boys behind him- one tall, with long hair and a thick beard and the other with a shaved head and a cigarette.

"Hey." The lead stops, extending his hand out. "You T.O. Cross?"

"I am." Exchanging looks with the other Grimm Reapers, he shakes the kid's hand. "And you are?"

"Jax Teller." The kid grins. "This is Opie—" He jerks his thumb towards the tall bearded one. "And this is Kyle." The other one puts out his cigarette.

"You J.T.'s kid." T.O. realizes, inspecting Jax carefully. His predecessor had been the one to start the relationship with SAMCRO, and upon taking the gavel, T.O. had realized how beneficial having a friendship with Charming could be. However, he's mainly dealt with Clay.

"Yeah." Jax doesn't seem bothered by the mention of his dead father. "Sorry, Clay got caught up in some other shit. Sent me instead."

"Where's your VP, Piney?" T.O. demands, a little affronted that Clay would send there kids that look barely out of prospecting to meet him.

"Hospital." Opie pipes up. "Bad lungs."

"Sorry to hear about that." T.O. says honestly. He's always liked Piney, the cranky old bastard.

"Thanks for your concern." Jax nods seriously, then gestures to the clump of pallets. "Should we talk?"

T.O. decides fairly quickly that he likes Jax Teller. Kid's got some spunk to him, laughs easily, and takes no shit. T.O. can respect the hell out of that. They get along well, joking and talking shit about their numerous shared associates.

"And I shit you not, he looks at me, he looks at all that shit, and he just shrugs, and walks away." T.O. recalls and Jax grins, shaking his head.

"I mean, it sounds like him, but he just left you to clean up all that shit yourself?" Kyle demands, incredulously, and chortling, T.O. nods.

"I think that safely ranks as top 5 worst afternoons I've ever had." He says thoughtfully and Jax shakes his head, chuckling.

"Man, I can see why."

"Well Jax." T.O. glances back at his men, who nod. "I think we have come to a good understanding."

"I think we have." Jax says easily, standing and pushing off his pants. "It was great to meet you, discuss some business, get some gossip…"

"Shooting the shit." T.O. clarifies. "My grandma gossips. We shoot the shit."

"Exactly." Grinning, Jax offers his hand once again. "Again man, nice to meet you."

"And you, Teller." T.O. says, clapping Jax on the back. He saunters off back to his bike, laughing and making some joke about whatever Kyle's complaining. T.O. watches him go, head tilted just slightly to the left.

Good kid. Smart. Charismatic. Handsome. If he'd seen him on the street, he never would have guessed him to be an outlaw. But there's something in his smile, a hint of steel that flashes in his eyes, that makes T.O. think there's a reason Jax Teller wears that kutte on his back effortlessly.

* * *

 _Tara seeing death_

Tara knows death, far more intimately than most of her classmates. Some of them are still a little hesitant about how to talk about it, how to feel about it. Tara is, for lack of better words, slightly apathetic.

It's not that she doesn't care, or comprehend the scope of death. It's that she does. She knows death well, she watched her mother die as a child, she practically watched her father die, trying to kill himself with drinks, all of her grandparents have passed, and she dated notorious Jax Teller, who wears the very symbol of death with a shocking familiarity.

So she breezes through med school, unbothered by death for the most part. Life comes, life goes. Tide rises, tide ebbs. Rain starts, rain stops. It's just another part of life that one must accept, make peace with, and move on. Tara had always prided herself on doing just that.

But then she lost her first patient. A tiny baby, born early, but healthy, mostly. Just a tiny problem with her lungs. Tara was going to go in, fix it, and watch another baby go home with her doting, grateful parents. But then there was bleeding that wouldn't stop, cardiac arrest that couldn't be reversed, and a flatline that echoed through Tara's head for months.

It shakes her to her very core, the devastation and accusation in the mother's eyes when Tara had to explain, haltingly, that they are no longer parents because Tara's hands hadn't been quick enough, nimble enough, smart enough. She'd failed them, and it blindsides her.

Her colleagues remind her that it happens. It will happen again. She has to carry on, the burden of dead babies falling on her shoulders. It's a high risk, high reward job, and it's never more apparent than the contrast of families leaving the hospital with a heavy carseat or an empty one.

So she faces death every day, and becomes a starch advocate for snarling in death's face. The reaper won't take these children, not today, not from her. She accepts that it happens, accepts that sometimes things are out of her control, and she becomes use to it.

She never becomes accustomed, however, to watching people get murdered in front of her.

 **AN:** Reviews feed the soul.


	64. Season 5- To Thine's Own Self

_Thomas gets Jax's temper_

He restrings his stick, doing it mostly out of habit, sitting on the ground, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes roving the crowd briefly before settling on the other team. He already knows who will be in the crowd for him- Wendy, smiling and clapping her hands. Abel and Willow, holding hands, Willow having no clue what's going on but cheering regardless.

It's the other team he has to worry about. He has to size them up, see how they look, compare himself to them. It's him versus them, and Thomas doesn't like to lose. He monitors the goalie warming up, seeing if he can spot any weaknesses. He leaves off when his coach yells at them to warm up.

He jobs, loosening out his legs, absentmindedly tossing and catching a ball before nudging his teammate Mikey to practice passing. Both boys pass and stretch, most of their attention focus on the other team.

"They look like the reigning conference champs?" Mikey comments lowly and Thomas shrugs.

"Thinking after this we might." He says, with a cocky grin and Mikey chuckles, nodding.

"Just gotta get through 60 minutes." Mikey mutters, tossing the ball extra high and catching it.

"60 minutes." Thomas echoes with a nod. Then the whistle blows and they circle around their coach. He looks at their eager faces then gives them only one short, curt nod.

"We win this, we get our bid." He says tersely. "So there's no need for me to tell you how important it is. We go out there, we play hard, and we win this, because we are the better team. Now go, and prove it!"

Thomas jogs onto the field, taking a deep breath, the adrenaline already building up in him, making him want to sprint. He controls it, and when the whistle blows, channels it into sprinting down the field, throwing shoulders into anyone that tries to touch him.

Wendy had put him in lacrosse for several reasons, because he was an active kid, an exuberant kid, with above average hand-eye coordination. He'd excelled in the sport in many ways, but he's known for his aggressiveness. It's what had set him apart from the other players.

He hits, smacks, slashes, pushes, shoves, and checks, stealing balls and defending his teammates. It's a physical game, and Thomas excels at it. He gets called for personal and technical fouls throughout the game, knowing he needs to back off before he gets ejected but unable to stop.

"Teller!" His coach yells, when Thomas takes a break to take a sip of water and breathe. "Cool it!"

"Yup." He grunts and then waits to go back on the field.

It's a close game all the way through the end, tied 12-12 as the final minutes of the game tick down. Then, with less than two minutes remaining, he sees another player blatantly smack Mikey across the face with his stick. Mikey drops, clutching his forehead.

Thomas sees red and charges toward the player. He tosses his stick aside and makes a fist, throwing a right hook to the player's jawbone. He goes down with nothing more than a little grunt, and a second later he's surrounded by his teammates and refs, coaches and the crowd bellowing, and he can't help but grin savagely when he's ejected, because no one fucks with Thomas Teller's teammates, and he like to prove why.

His coach doesn't say anything but Thomas knows he's not mad. He knew when he recruited him that Thomas comes with two things- great talent and a fierce temper. A great player because of both. And when they score, the fury providing them with an extra boost and the clocks runs down to zero, the whole team bursts into cheers. Thomas sits back, grinning.

"How's the head?" He asks Mikey after the pictures are taken and the celebrating is done.

"Feels like I got hit with a fucking crosse, how you think the head is?" He grumbles, but still grins."Ah, we won though, so it was worth it. Getting thrown out worth it too?"

"Yup." Thomas gives him a light punch to the shoulder. "I'm going to go say hey to the family." He walks over to his waiting family. Abel grins and laughs, pulling him in a hug and ruffling his hair.

"Nice punch." Willow declares dryly, raising an eyebrow and he pretends to be affronted.

"Temper." Wendy shakes her head. "You and that damned temper, you take after your father. Never let anyone touch his friends, always ready to jump to their defense."

"Friends, teammates." Thomas shrugs. "Same thing."

"Still proud of you." Wendy says, pulling him into a tight hug. "And very unsurprised."

"Thanks mom." He hugs her back. "So you guys gonna come to some playoff games or what?"

"You gonna punch more people? It's always so entertaining." Willow teases and he doesn't bother to deny it.

* * *

 _Why Tara choses neonatal_

Most people come into med school with a good idea of where they will want to go. It is something of an inside joke in the inside community. The hotshot cardiac surgeons, the outgoing and bubbly OBGYNs, all the others, so on and so forth. People are separated into groups- medicine and surgery, adults and kids, all the little subgroups.

Tara hadn't had a clue when she had begun studies. She'd always been so focused on being a doctor, getting to med school, getting out of Charming, that she'd never stopped to really consider what she would do once she got there. So she goes into rotation with an open mind, eager to see what she would experience and if she'd find her niche.

She hates adults. That becomes clear within days. She doesn't like working with petulant patients, who can sass and question and glare when she tries to help them. They remind her too much of the days when Jax tried to get her to stay in Charming, show her where she'd belong.

Kids are ok, but not much better. They still yell and scream and pout, kicking her away when she tries to give them shots, quite capable of destroying a room. She leaves every day exhausted and annoyed, always wanting to go home and take a long nap.

But then there's neonatal. The tiny, delicate, fragile babies that are such fighters from the second they are born. She admires their strength, their spirit. She finds herself drawn to them. She wants to help them. They are innocent and brave, and they are good.

They make Tara feel better. If she can help them, then she can atone for all her past mistakes. She is a better human when she is saving their lives, helping them grow up strong and healthy. She loves knowing that somewhere, a little boy or girl is running, jumping, living and breathing with their families because she helped save them.

She fits there too, with the other doctors. Quiet, somber, knowing that their patients haven't lived full lives, but rather just weeks, sometimes even just days. It's terrifying to think about, but that also gives her a sense of purpose, to make sure they get the lives they deserve.

She falls in love with each and every baby that walks through her operating doors, coos at them, loves them, and mourns them fiercely when they don't make it. Every day at work, she thinks about being a mother, about what her kids will be like, snuggling and cuddling them.

But until then she's content to do her best for other's people's children, to love them while they are in her care, and hand them off to their parents once they are better. That is her job, and every day it gives her joy, if not just a little bit of heartache when they leave.

* * *

 _When Clay starts calling Jax son_

"I just… I'm worried about him." Gemma mutters, shaking her head and looking down at her dinner.

"I know Gem." Clay puts a soothing hand over hers. "But he's a good kid, and he's strong. He'll be fine."

"You're only saying that because I'm over here worrying and you're concerned you're not going to get laid tonight." She says with an eye roll and he looks at her, offended.

"Well, it is our two year wedding anniversary," He reminds her pointedly. "And I would like to celebrate."

"It's been months since she left." Gemma gets let it go and so Clay sits back with a quiet groan, resigning himself to the fact that this is going to be the topic of conversation tonight. "Why is he still so sad about it? He should be celebrating all the pussy he can get."

"He does." Clay assures her, thinking of all the girls he's seen parade in and out of the dorm room at Jax's request.

"It's not the same." Gemma waves a hand. "He's different. He doesn't make an emotional connection with any of them. He's just… Dull. Indifferent. Robotic. It's not like him."

"That's cause he's not a chick." Clay rolls his eyes. "Gem, he's a guy. A kid. A young boy. Let him go a little bit."

"No." Gemma says fiercely. "That bitch, she twisted him up inside. She did something to him."

"She broke his heart." Clay is struggling to keep his temper in check; annoyed that tonight of all nights is once again centered on Jax. "Anything else you're just overthinking because you hated her so much."

"I did not." She mutters halfheartedly.

"You did." He pours more wine in her glass. "Now stop worrying about Jax. If it's really bothering you."

"Would you?" Gemma beams brightly. "Oh, thank you." Then she takes a sip of wine and Clay narrows his eyes, wondering if he's been played. With Gemma, it's entirely possible.

The next day he heads to the clubhouse, on the lookout for Jax. The sooner he can talk to Jax and reassure Gemma that everything is fine with her only son, the sooner she'll stop worrying about him and things can go back to normal. He strides in, glancing around.

"Morning." Piney says, already behind the bar.

"Hey. You seen Jax?" He questions and Piney squints at him.

"Yeah, think him and Opie headed out of town to the range, wanted to try out those new guns from the Irish." He says slowly and Clay tips his head in thanks, heading back outside.

"Hey." Jax calls, pausing in his firing when Clay arrives. "What's wrong? Need us at the table?"

"Nah." He waves a hand, walking over. Opie's sitting on top of an empty oil drum, smoking, watching Clay approach. "Just wanted to have a word with you. Op, you mind?"

"I'm gonna go take a piss." Opie announces, stomping out his cigarette and Jax nods, watching his retreating back before turning to Clay.

"What's up?" He asks, setting the gun down. Clay pulls out a cigarette, offering one to Jax.

"Your mom sent me." He mutters around the cigarette, lighting it and offering his lighter to Jax.

"Yeah?" Jax lights his own, scowling. "What does mother dearest want to interfere with now?"

"All aspects of your life, as always." Clay chuckles. "She's just worry about you, you know, as she does."

"Yeah." Jax huffs and exhales smoke, shaking his head. "I gathered that from the hovering."

"You wanna talk about it or just give me some bullshit that I can take back to her and ease her mind?" He asks and Jax gives a dry snicker.

"Bullshit doesn't work with her, or haven't you learned that in the past two years?" He remarks.

"I like to think that I'm better at it than most." He says modestly. "You give me bullshit, I promise I'll make her believe it."

"No bullshit." Jax sighs. "I just… Sick of shit, you know? Sick of all the shit. Nothing feels real anymore."

"Feel empty inside?" Clay asks and Jax nods, looking at the ground. "Bored, disinterested, all of that shit?"

"Yeah." Jax mutters.

"I get it." Clay nods in understanding. "Felt that way coming back from the war. When you lose a part of your life. It's… Well, it's shit. But your mom, she worries out of love."

"I know." Jax grumbles. "She always has, that's what makes shit so annoying. She means well. I should be grateful, but I'm not."

"Yeah, I get that too. Need some space." Clay leans back and raises an eyebrow. "Need to get away from a little bit."

"Yeah." Jax looks thoughtful all of the sudden. "Yeah, maybe me and Op should have a road trip."

"Go to Nevada. Washington." Clay adds. "Visit some brothers. See some fresh faces. It'll help."

"You think?" Jax glances down at the guns.

"Yeah." Clay rests his hand on Jax's shoulder. "Take a week. I think we can hold things down in Charming for that long. I'll keep your mother busy so she can't follow."

"Thanks." Jax grins and stubs out his cigarette. "I think we'll do that. We'll pack this shit up and coming back to the clubhouse."

"Sounds good." Clay nods. "Hey, and son?" Jax looks back at him. "I am proud of you, you know."

"Thanks." Jax's mouth turns up into a smile. Clay nods and leaves, heading home before realizing that he's never seen Jax as his own before, not until he gives him advice and Jax takes it.

* * *

 _"I'm an outlaw."_

 **noun; a lawless person or habitual criminal, especially one who is a fugitive from the law; a person, group, or thing excluded from the benefits and protection of the law; a person under sentence of outlawry; a person who refuses to be governed by the established rules or practices of any group; rebel; nonconformist**

Jax is many things in his life. He's a son, a father, a husband, a brother, a president, a biker, a lover, and a fighter. He's worn a lot of labels like he wears his kutte, branding himself as who he is.

But outlaw is the word that best suits him. The other words lay out certain parts of him- the side that belongs to the club, the side that belongs to Tara, the side that belongs to his boys. But an outlaw is who he is, deep inside his very soul. It is his essence.

He's been this way since he was a kid, since he was in grade school and refused to listen to his teachers. Being raised as John Teller's son, the man that so proudly extoled the virtues of anarchy, it doesn't surprise anyone that he acts this way. Then he got older and it was cops he'd snigger at, defiant till the last. Cops wouldn't protect him anyways.

Bikers don't get help. Shots ring out and a man in a kutte is down? Cops dawdle calling the ambulance, knowing bikers would do the same for them. It's just the way of life. Jax is fine with it. It's all he's ever known.

He doesn't like any rules, that much is clear. Gemma and John had made it their goal from his very early years to cultivate a fiercely independent attitude in him and it had worked. Jax tends to disregard rules and laws freely, not realizing when he does so.

Tara had laughed once and commented on it, saying that Jax's laws came not from the government but from himself. Sometimes, his head makes a rule, but usually it's his heart. He follows what he thinks is right, what he thinks he needs to do, and himself only.

It scares him, just a little, to think that he is most defined by a word that others say with revulsion, or make snide comments. Outlaw. It is his way of life, honestly and truly. He knows no other way. He cannot change to be a father, a husband, or a mechanic.

That's what he is. Outlaw. Born to an outlaw father, who raised him in his footsteps. But as Jax looks at his boys, all he can think about is how he would never want the word outlaw to define his sons.

 **AN:** Scared for season 5 to end because the last 2 seasons are just pain. Reviews?


	65. Season 5- Darthy

_The Mayhem Vote_

Jax votes for Clay to meet Mr. Mayhem. He isn't thinking of the good years. He isn't recalling that vacation the club took, to some lake, where he'd ran off the end of the dock and plunged into the cold water, over and over again, Clay standing in the chest deep water to catch him time after time, chuckling at Jax's rambunctious nature.

He isn't thinking about Tommy's funeral, when Clay's hand had been a heavy, guiding pressure on his shoulder, making sure that a young and heartbroken boy got through the day.

He isn't thinking about his early 20s, those first years without Tara, when he was fresh and green in the club, fearless to the point of suicidal, when Clay would laugh and let Jax blow off steam, shrugging and not bothering to apologize when there were bar fights, chases, standoffs, and more. He supported Jax finding that wilder, more violent side of him, giving him space to grow into the club.

He is only thinking about his father. Donna. Opie. Tara. His mother. Piney. All of the people that Jax has loved, and Clay has hurt. He murdered his father, murdered Piney, caused the deaths of Donna and Opie, ruined Tara's dreams, beat his mother half to death.

He is thinking of his club, what they could've been if Clay hadn't sunk his poisonous, murderous claws into it. It could've been better. Greater. More. He wouldn't have so many hard choices to make, so much shit to dig them out of. If JT had stayed alive, ruled a little longer, where would SAMCRO be? Where would Jax be?

He doesn't think of the man who practically adopted him. He just thinks of his pain, his rage, and votes for Clay Morrow to die.

Tig votes for Clay to meet Mr. Mayhem. He doesn't think of his best friend in the whole world. He doesn't think of the good years, when he and Clay would drink and laugh and cheer, telling stories and making memories. He doesn't think of the pride, the two of them, the President and his right hand.

He doesn't think of all the crazy shit they've gotten into, all the crazy shit Tig's saved Clay from, pulled him out of. Those skinheads on the cliff, the meth heads by the river, even that weekend in Vegas that somehow ended with guns drawn. He's always had Clay's back.

He can't allow himself to remember the quiet moments, all the times that they'd worked side by side, helping each other in the garage, tinkering with their bikes, drinking and bitching about shit. Clay has been his brother, his family, for over a decade, and that shit sits heavy on his heart.

He is thinking of this club. How it's been there for him, during the good, the bad, the ups, the down. It has been his only consistency for so long, he cannot do without it.

He doesn't think of his oldest and longest friend. He just thinks of the club and votes for Clay Morrow to die.

Juice votes for Clay to meet Mr. Mayhem. He isn't thinking about the bonds that they share. He does thinking of the good years, when he was nothing more than a prospect, how Clay had seemed larger than life then.

He doesn't think about how he grew up at the club, really grew up, from an awkward kid just hoping to find a place in the world, to a confident biker, still the youngest of the group, but now more like a little brother than a kid.

He doesn't think about all the advice Clay has given him, about how he's filled the role of father for so long in Juice's mind. A little boy who's mother told him that she created him with the sheer force of her love alone, who only ever wanted a dad.

He doesn't think of how much Clay's approval means to him. How good it feels to know Clay trusts him, respects him, appreciates him. He doesn't want to think of the last couple months, of taking care of him. He doesn't want to think of the gun.

He is thinking of his past and his future. He is thinking of the mistakes he's made, that first mistake that had then spiraled into a hundred after, and how Jax had managed to find out. He is thinking about life without the club, Jax casting him out like they've cast out Clay.

He doesn't think of the only man to ever treat him like a son. He just thinks of his future and votes for Clay Morrow to die.

* * *

 _Tara knowing about the murder vote_

Tara grabs her notepad and a pen, sticking the pen through her bun and reading her previous notes as she takes a bite of a dry bagel. She's sitting atop a broken gurney, studying her scribbles that are illegible to anyone else. She's almost finished off the bagel when a nurse spots her and pauses.

"There's another surgery, guy from the ER came in." She informs her and Tara grins.

"Thanks." She says, before dashing towards the surgery rooms. Any chance for her to watch, to get more experience, to see real life, is a chance for her to learn and become better. She pauses in the doorway to the theatre. "What is it?"

"Attempted suicide." A fellow student says, from his spot in the front row. They are watching the surgery, half a dozen of them. Tara sits next to him, note taking momentarily forgotten.

"Gunshot wound, by the looks of it." Another student, behind them, mutters. "Doubt it was a suicide attempt."

"Why?" Tara asks curiously, going back to her notes and flipping to a new page.

"Probably an accident." Someone suggests. "Look at him. Drug user, gangbanger, forgets to put the gun on safety, messing around, shoots himself. Easy."

"What's he belong to?" Another student asks absentmindedly. Chicago is a gangland, and it's not uncommon for members of both gangs to end up crossing their operating tables. Bullets don't care about colors or alliances.

"Dunno." The student next to Tara leans forever, trying to get a better look. "Doesn't look like MS or Kings tats…"

"Great, we'll figure out based on who tries to kill him in the cafeteria." Someone quips and there's muffled chuckles all round.

After surgery, Tara checks on the man after her rounds. He's comatose, a large bandage covering most of his face. She knows the bullet had narrowly avoiding causing fatal damage, but even now, he's going to be touch and go. She pauses, checking his chart out of curiosity, then glancing the man himself.

Her blood goes cold when she spots the tattoos. 'SONS' on his knuckles. A reaper on his forearm. The anarchy symbol peaking out from the neck of his hospital gown. She hadn't known they were in Chicago.

"Crazy, isn't it? Surviving that?" The student before, the one she'd sat next to during the surgery, stands beside her, looking down at the patient. "He's from Arizona but I guess he grew up here. Got some family that lives in the area, said they haven't seen him in years. Drove all the way here, for what? To kill himself? Makes you wonder why, doesn't it?"

"It does." She says faintly, but the pieces are already being put together in her head. Mr. Mayhem had come to claim another son. Or try, at least. "Who's his attending? I need to warn them. This was suicide, and if he wakes up, he'll try again."

"How do you know that?" He frowns at her, a little alarmed.

"Because I do. Trust me." Tara is backing out of the room in horror. "I need to… I need to… I have to…" She scrambles out of the room and out of the hospital entirely, standing in the middle of the lightly falling snow, gasping for breath.

It's not like he came to Chicago for her. It's just a crazy coincidence, that a man just happened to be treated at her hospital. It's not like Jax sent him from Charming. But she is still deeply shaken.

A week later, she passes the empty room and frowns, backtracking to find a nurse. When she asks where the patient went, the nurse flinches.

"Woke up, went crazy. Pulled all his IVs out and stuff. Took a bunch of pills, overdosed. It was… Gruesome. It's a miracle that he even woke up and he does that. I guess he just really wanted to die."

Tara finds the nearest bathroom to vomit.

* * *

 _Clay losing his patch_

It's like losing a limb, honestly. That's all he can think of to describe it. He thinks of guys, back in the service, who'd lost limbs. They'd claim that sometimes it still felt like it was there, a phantom sensation.

That's how his kutte feels, like it's still there, still hanging off his shoulders, the reassuring weight on his back. He's had it for so long, his body accommodates for it's weight, mimicking it as if to try and lessen the blow of losing it.

In a way, he wishes he was dead. Dead rather than lose his patch, that's what they all use to say. Instead, he's here, the piece of leather that is his life taken from him. He's a hypocrite, but if he had died with the patch on, at least he'd never have felt this pain.

It's not real yet. The true scope of it hasn't sunken in. He's not some hardy 25 year old that decides to move on, lose his kutte, black out a couple tattoos, and head for the hills. He is an old man, and this has been his life.

He's lost the tattoos. That's all his mind can settle on, honestly, because perhaps it's the most physical thing besides the kutte. He's got so many, and they're been with him for so long. What's it going to be like to look in the mirror and instead of seeing the reaper look back at him, just a mass of black?

It's going to mark him, to everyone, forever. Everyone will know. He doesn't get some masterful coverup, expensive laser treatment. He just gets black, black as night ink, to set him apart and block him from his past.

He doesn't think about the more permanent implications. No funeral rites. No motorcade to guide him to his final resting place, no kuttes lining up to pay their respects, pour of one last beer for their president, one of the last of the First 9, the old guard.

No reaper on his gravestone. He won't get to carry that honor in death. It'll be forgotten, and once all those who knew him in life are gone, there will be no one left to remember that Clay Morrow did, in fact, live and love SAMCRO. He will just be another faceless solider in the neat rows of white headstones.

It's terrifying, like a chasm has opened up beneath him and he's falling, tumbling into a vast nothingness. For decades, as long as he can remember, he has had a purpose and that purpose has been the club. What's right for the club, what's good for the club, what's best for the club. Now, he has nothing. He is bound by nothing.

There's a flicker of hope, buried somewhere deep beneath the devastation. For once, he can go his own way. Do his own thing. Forge his own path, with no-one there to judge or sneer. Perhaps, just maybe, he and Gemma can make it in Belfast, him doing stuff for the Irish. Maybe it'll work. Maybe he'll get a little older, a little wiser, and one day he'll forget this pain.

But today is not that today, and today the pain of losing everything demands to be felt.

* * *

 _"I'm going to give you a beautiful life."_

"Jax." Tara nudges him, hard, in the ribs. "Jax, wake up."

"What?" He groans, trying to roll away from his wife and bury his face deeper into the pillow.

"Jax, I think there's someone in the house." Tara whispers and that rouses him. He reaches into the drawer next to their bed, reaching and groping around until he finds a gun. He pulls it out, fitting it comfortably into the palm of his hand, then gesturing for Tara to stay in bed.

"It's ok." He mutters reassuringly. "I'll go look."

"The boys." Tara ignores him, throwing the covers off and padding after him. He walks through the hall, gun down but ready and Tara follows him on silent feet. He pokes his head into Thomas's room, looking around quickly. No one is there, his 4 year old sleeping quietly and content, a tiny patch of drool on the pillow.

"Clear." He mutters to Tara, mostly out of habit, before heading across the hall to Abel's room. Again, no-one is there, just Abel, sprawled out in bed, deep in sleep.

"Downstairs." Tara mutters and they work through the whole house, Jax with the gun, Tara a heartbeat behind him, until he's searched every nook and cranny and then puts the safety back on the gun, turning to look at Tara.

"We're safe." He grabs her shoulders. "No one is going to hurt us."

"I thought I heard a noise." Tara whispers and Jax shushes her, pulling her into a hug.

"Just the wind." He mutters, managing to bite back an accusation that is must've been her imagination. He can't blame her, not really. Not when his back is still aching from the laser tattoo removal treatments, not when the sound of bikes still makes both of them jump, not when the first snowfall came and the boys had been mystified, having never seen a Maine winter.

They live on the opposite side of the country, but Tara is still terrified that SAMCRO will come for them, and not even the nice, two-story house with the new car in the suburbs can stop that fear. But Jax tries.

"Sorry. This pregnancy must just be making me insane." She tries to laugh, but it comes out strangled and Jax dips to kiss her, then bends at the waist to kiss her still flat stomach.

"If you're not going to let us sleep the next 7 months peanut, you better come out sleeping 8 hours a night." He mutters and Tara laughs, taking his hand.

"Sorry I'm paranoid." She whispers. "Now let's get back to bed before we wake the boys."

(-)

"We're going to die." Tara states factually and Jax looks up from the tablet in his hands, quirking an eyebrow.

"Why's that?" He asks easily and Tara looks down at the calendar in front of her, shaking her head.

"It just doesn't work out." She mutters, chewing on the cap of her pen. "It's going to be complete chaos."

"You're overthinking it." He declares, coming behind her and looking at the dates with her.

"Am I?" She sighs heavily and gestures to the two large outlined dates. "Because Thomas graduates from grad school on the 15th, and Gracie graduates high school on the 28th. That's two weeks apart."

"It's fine." Jax rubs her shoulders. "That's two whole weeks."

"Yeah, and we have to move Thomas halfway across the country, set up for Gracie's open house, settle Thomas, order food and cupcakes and decorations and tables for the party, attend all her friends' open houses, completely clean our house for the party, do yard work, and still work full-time jobs!"

"Tara." Jax laughs, kissing the top of her head. "It's fine."

"And then on top of that," Tara's voice borders on near hysterical as she flips to the next month. "Abel's getting married on the 11th!"

"I know." Jax takes the calendar and tosses it aside, pulling Tara up and to his chest. "And after that, we'll have a daughter-in-law, two of the three employed and living on their own, and a college student. We'll be empty nesters."

"Why would you say that?" Tara bursts into tears, sobbing into Jax's chest, and he does nothing but smile and sway, holding her close. When Tara's finally done crying, he leans her back just slightly.

"Are you sure you're not pregnant again? You were always crazy emotional when you were pregnant." He teases and she gives a watery chuckle and a weak punch to the arm.

"I'm not pregnant." She grumbles.

"I know." He pulls her close again, taking her hand and waist, guiding her into a slow dance. "But just think about all the grandkids we're going to have soon, all the little mini-Abel's."

"Oh lord." Tara mutters, but she's got a smile now.

"And Gracie is going to be so happy at college at Thomas and Waterville isn't that far, we can visit. And Thomas is going to be so excited to explore Indianapolis. Tara, we did good." He mummers.

"No." She shakes her head. "I want all my babies to come home to me."

"No you don't." Jax rubs her back comfortingly. "Because we would go broke trying to feed them all."

"You're right." Smiling, Tara wipes her tears with his shirt, then looks around the kitchen with a critical eye. "And we need new countertops."

"Oh no." Jax tries to stop her. "We're not adding a remodel to the house on top of everything else we have going this spring!"

"Says you." Tara scoffs. "If we're going to do everything else, we might as well do this. Speaking of that, our bedroom is in dire need of new floors, and fresh paint, and we should throw out the couch in the basement, and we can give all our old stuff to Thomas for his apartment. Now that I think about it, why don't we get—"

Jax listens to her ramble, watching her with an affectionate grin.

(-)

Tara is tired. She wants to sleep, but she clings to consciousness, because she knows how important today is. She glances at the window, as the snow softly drifts down. She hopes it won't making driving troublesome. She misses them.

Jax is wheeled into her room a couple minutes later and Tara manages a faint smile, reaching a hand out to him when the nurses nudge their beds side by side. Jax manages a faint smile.

"Hey, darlin'." His voice, even after all these years, makes her go warm with love.

"Mrs. Teller?" One nurse pokes her head around the corner. "They're here. Are you ready to go to the sunroom?"

"Yes." Tara pats Jax's hand, then straightens out her blankets. "Let's go." The nurses chat with them as they wheel the beds to the large gathering room, decorated with tinsel and baubles. A large Christmas tree stands in one corner, by the large bay windows that show the gathering snow.

"Hi mom, hi dad." Abel greets them first, speaking loudly because Jax has gone nearly deaf in the recent years. Behind Abel is his wife and kids, and his own grandchildren. Tara smiles, reaching out to pat his cheek.

"Hello, sweetheart." She whispers, tears threatening. He dips to kiss her cheek, then goes to gently hug his frail father. Thomas is next, with his own brood.

"Hi ma." He kisses her cheek and she holds him, wondering when her baby grew up to have babies and grand babies of his own. He'll always be the cherubic boy to her.

"Mama." Gracie hasn't lost her beaming smile with age, even if there are a few more wrinkles. Tara remarks, with just the faintest twinge of pain, that her daughter resembles Gemma more and more as she as ages. No, she thinks firmly, Gemma would never have such kind eyes.

All their grandchildren and great grandchildren greet them with hugs and kisses and Tara knows she knows all their names, but some days they get fuzzy and jumbled. No one seems to mind, not really, not when there's food to eat and presents to be opened.

Jax and Tara are off to one side, watching as their family, the humans they created, open gifts and play, mom's bouncing babies and sorting out disputes between toddlers, teenagers playing on devices. Abel, Thomas, and Gracie occasionally drift over to sit beside them, and Tara drifts in and out of dozing, completely content here.

She knows it's unlikely that her or Jax will live to see another Christmas Eve. This tradition will fade when they're gone, her children no longer needing to trek to a nursing home to see their aging parents for the holiday. That's ok, Tara thinks. They'll make their own traditions, and remember the old ones fondly.

She's lived a long life, a full life, a list spent mostly with Jax by her side. Since she was 14, she's loved him. Now, nearing their mid-90s, she looks back and admits that it was a good life, a beautiful life. She takes Jax's hand and looks at him, thinking that she has no regrets.

 **AN:** Some pain and then some soothing, because we all knew Sons was never going to end happily but dammit... Hey, leave me reviews?


	66. Season 5- J'ai Obtenu Cette

_Wendy on drugs_

She's sinking, deeper and deeper into the carpet, through the floor, down through the earth, all the way until she's at the core of the earth, burning and burning and…

With a grunt, she rolls over. Self preservation has kicked in, ever so slightly. If she's on her side, then she can't choke on her vomit. It's funny, the little things she remembers.

Like how fucking good these drugs feel. Why the hell did she ever stop? This is amazing. This is perfect. This is bliss. This is the best thing to ever happen to her. Her pain, her hurts, her everything… It washes away in a wave of bliss.

She lets herself get lost in the drug again, spinning through it wildly, embracing it like an old friend… No, an old lover. That's what this is, with it's familiar caress and swell. This is love, and Wendy loses herself in it.

She's not sure how long she spends on the floor, more lost time in a life that has too much of it. She's not sure what possesses her to think of getting up, of stumbling towards her bed. She collapses down on it, cheek to the pillow, when she sees it.

A drawing, done by a friend in rehab. She'd only had the one picture of Abel, covered in tubes and wires and sensors, a tiny little thing. Her only picture, and it broke her heart to see it. So her friend, the talented artist who could only paint when his synapses were firing uncontrollably, had sketched the picture, excluding all the medical equipment and leaving just Abel.

That's when her memory kicks back in, overriding the addict's voice in her head. Her memory spits out Abel, looking up at her and smiling. His laughter. The toys he likes, the snacks he prefers. The big blue eyes and lopsided smile. Abel. Memory after memory, each a rung on the ladder she takes out of the pit.

The drugs will fade, she thinks through the haze. She will go into withdrawal, again, and it will be brutal, again. But she stays where she is, fixated on that sketch and the memories playing through her mind. They are her new drug, her new addiction.

Minutes, hours, days, years later, she starts to come down. Funny, how she once hated this. Hating becoming sober, hated it passionately. Now she wants it, craves it. Flush the drugs out. Give her life back to Abel. That's all she wants. Deserving of him.

She manages to drag herself into the shower, where she sits under the hotel water and tries not to vomit before losing that battle. Its ok, she reminds herself. She'll make it through this time. Because she's got Abel there at the end of it.

* * *

 _Tig and dogs_

It's a run joke of sorts in the club, Tig and dogs. They joke and tease that Tig loves his dogs more than he loves humans, that he cares about dogs more. They're not wrong, so Tig never bothers to deny it.

Because dogs are better than humans, in every way, and Tig knows that. Because he knows how awful humans are. He's an awful human himself. He just doesn't lie to himself about his horribleness.

Dogs, on the other hand, are inherently good. They are taught to be mean, against their will. Tig knows what it's like to be forced to learn how to be brutal and vicious. But dogs are better than humans. Dogs deserve to be rehabbed. Humans don't.

Tig could spend weeks and months talking about all the ways dogs are better than humans, starting with the unconditional love and ending with the fact that they can't talk, so they can't annoy him.

Humans don't deserve dogs. Not when they're furiously loyal, endearingly sweet, and have personalities all their own. Tig doesn't understand how anyone can look at dogs and not see the beauty and adoration he feels.

He debates what to name the happy girl in this lap. She's been through so much already but here she is, laying in his lap, bandaged but still happy, licking his face and wiggling her tail as best she can.

He loves her, probably more than he loves any crow eater or stripper that parades by. She's got his full focus and attention, because she deserves it. Such a good dog. What a good girl. What a sweetheart. She deserves a good name, one that fits her loving personality.

But there will be time for that, later. Right now she's got to heal and he'll croon sweet words to her, telling her how pretty she is. He'll take her home and she can sleep wherever she wants on his bed. Gemma will make some smartass remark that he usually kicks females out after 10 minutes.

She's still not wrong, so Tig can only shrug. He's a dog person, not a people person. So sue him. But he has his reasons, and he's too busy cooing and petting his new baby to give a damn what anyone thinks.

* * *

 _Nero and Chibs Catholic Bonding- "That would be the good, catholic thing to do."_

"Nice piece." Nero says, to break the quiet. It's weird, whenever he's left with people that aren't Jax or Gemma or Lyla. At least it's not Clay, just the stoic Scot. Chibs.

"What?" Chibs looks at him, with furrowed eyebrows, lowering the beer he'd been raising to his lips.

"Nice piece." Nero repeats, but gestures to the cross on Chibs's shoulder.

"Oh." He glances at it then back at Nero. "Thanks."

"Celtic, right?" He tries to keep the conversation going, just to fill the damned silence.

"Uh, yeah." Chibs takes a sip. "Thought the accent might've given it away."

"Yeah, I'm in the same boat." Nero tries to joke, but Chibs just gives him a blank look, so Nero turns and lifts up his shirt, displaying an intricate crucifix on his side.

"Ouch." Chibs twinges in sympathy. "Had to hurt."

"Well you know, after the nuns and the streets, this is nothing." Nero jokes and is rewarded when Chibs chuckles.

"Aye, funny how that works." He takes another long pull, then goes to open the fridge to get Nero a beer.

"Always nice to share a drink with someone who gets it." Nero remarks, popping the tab off.

"Catholicism?" Chibs asks and Nero nods. "Fuck, I'm in it and I don't even understand it."

"Yeah, hard to do the whole gang banging thing Monday through Saturday and then go pray on Sunday." Nero reflects. "Think we get points for trying?"

"Shit, I hope so." Chibs broods. "Can't shake it though, can you? Gets in your head, it does."

"Yeah." Nero takes a long drink. "There's a lot of bad things in the bible and I think we do every one of them."

"I don't rape." Chibs says firmly and Nero nods at that point. "The rest though…"

"To the rest." Nero raises his bottle in a toast and Chibs joins him. "May we keep committing them and be forgiven by our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ."

"Amen." Chibs clicks the beer bottles together. "Just a couple of wayward Catholic boys."

"Want to know the best part about it all is?" Nero muses, now fully lost in thought. Chibs glances at him out of the corner of his eyes.

"What's that?"

"My grandma was a saint." He reveals. "Actually and truly, man. Feed the hungry, clothed the naked, helped the poor, all of it. No doubt in my mind she's up there, en el cielo. A generation later, me. I ain't touching those pearly gates man, not even close."

"No, probably not." Chibs agrees, bobbing his head. "But neither are half the Catholics I know."

"Yeah." Nero's mouth twitches up. "Mine too."

"We're only doing a little worse than the rest." Chibs rationalizes. "With the murder."

"Extortion."

"Lying, cheating, stealing."

"General hedonism."

"That's how the Scots live though."

"Good point." Nero snorts with amusement. "What can we say though? Born and raised Catholic, and some shit can't get beat out of you."

"No, it can't." Chibs finishes off his bottle. "Want another?"

"Sure." Nero hurries to finish off his bottle. He likes Chibs and their talks. Man's amusing. "So, you had to go to Catholic school then or what?"

"Just called school, over there in Scotland and Ireland."

"Yeah, same goes for Mexico."

* * *

 _"I'm dead without my boys."_

She'd done it. The bitch has actually done it. Gemma, when she's not furious or numb, has flashes of appreciation for Tara. She'd been a scared teenager, all those years ago. Gemma had taken one look at her scrawny, motherless ass and had laughed at the idea of her ever being a threat.

It was impossible. Jax would get sick of her in short order, go back to the crow eaters and strippers with bigger boobs and more skilled mouths. Even when Tara hung on for a couple years, she never considered the pale, thin girl to be a problem.

There'd been a brief flicker of fear when Tara had nearly convinced Jax to leave the club, nearly seduced him into following her out of Charming. But Gemma had won that battle too, and Tara had sulked off, tail between her legs, for 10 whole years.

A truce called when she came home, when Gemma saw something of herself in the woman that now had ice in her veins and a fire in her belly. A stone cold bitch, one Gemma respected. Ally. They'd be better that way. Friends close, enemies close, all that business.

Gemma should've kept her so close she'd smothered her. Fused their skin together. Because Tara had seen an opening and she'd seized it. Hauled Jax and the boys to Oregon before Gemma could blink, and then halfway across the country in a blink after that.

Gemma doesn't even know where they are, that's the worst part. They've gone dark. She can't find her son, or her grandsons. Tara has hidden them, effectively, using tips and tricks she'd learned at Gemma's knee. That bitch had done it, gotten Jax out, gotten the boys out, and cut the reigning line of Charming's royal family with ease.

Gemma palms the little pistol in her hand. Small, but it'll get the job done. She thinks, absentmindedly, she should do it in the bathtub, so she'll make less of a mess. Tig or Chibs or whoever finds her will be less traumatized. Thoughts flicker through the haze of the whiskey and pills.

Now Wendy had been onto something with the drugs. They're good, and they make what she's about to do all that much easier. She stumbles into the tub, carefully minding the gun. Then she takes a deep breath and puts the tip of the gun her mouth, tasting the cold steel.

A final white flag to Tara. She won. She's got her whole world, Jax and Abel and Thomas. Maybe more. Would they have any other kids by now? It's been years, it's possible. Are there other Teller babies Gemma knows nothing about? The idea devastates her, widens the hole in her heart, and solidifies her resolve.

She closes her eyes and calls to mind her boys. Jackson, Thomas, Abel, Thomas. The four of them, all little boys, grin down at her, calling her mom and grandma. Her mouth tugs up into the faintest smile, and when she pulls the trigger, her last thought is that Tara may have 3 of the 4 boys, but at least Gemma is going to see one.

* * *

 _"Women need to be wanted."_

"I don't really get why you do this." Dani ignores her little sister's comments as she dusts more glitter on her cheeks.

"It's fun." She says casually.

"Really?" Her sister raises an eyebrow. "Parading around naked, that's fun?"

"Are you here to judge Becks, or are you going to shut up and stop talking shit?" She demands sharply and Becky hushes, pursing her lips together to keep them shut.

"Still." She says, apparently unable to help herself and Dani rolls her eyes.

"It's fun, ok? And it keeps me in shape. And I make damn good money doing it." She repeats her reasoning for the thousandth time and Becky finally falls silent as Dani brushes on more glitter then stands to inspect herself in a full length mirror.

"You do look good." Becky admits and Dani tosses her a grin over her shoulder.

"I know." She juts one hip out and makes pouty lips at herself in the mirror. "That's why I get this shift."

"Which shift is that?" Becky asks curiously and when the song begins to fade, Dani grins at her.

"When our favorite customers come, that is. Go, watch. I do three songs, then I get a break to go say hi to some people." The music is picking up into a fast paced rock song and Dani tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder, adjusting the strategically placed leather straps. She shoos Becky out of the dressing room, then carefully walks up the stairs to the stage, pausing to make sure her sky high heels are secure. Then she struts on stage.

The song is AC/DC or Def Leppard or some other hair band, she doesn't really know. Not her type of music, but she caters to her audience. She adjusts to the lights once she's reached the pole and she grins out at the men in the front row, knowing all of them by name.

Jax, Clay, Opie, Tig, Bobby, and Piney. There with their clients, fellow bikers in leather kuttes. Dani doesn't know their names, but she will, soon enough. Doesn't matter right now though, as she blows them a kiss and drops, slowly, into the splits.

Her routine is full of dips, splits, shimmying and shaking, grinding on the pole, her costume showing more than it conceals. The club whoops and hollers in the front row and she practically purrs when Tig slips a $100 between her costume and nipple.

When the routine is done, she wanders down to the floor, spotting Becky in the corner, arms folded. A little out of breath, she heads over, with a grin.

"Well." Becky doesn't look terribly impressed, and Dani bites back a question about why she'd even bothered to come. "You were right about the money."

"Oh." Dani glances down at the money. "Yeah, they're generous. Regulars too, mostly."

"What else do they pay you for?" Becky demands and Dani flashes back to the last weekend, when Tig had grabbed fistful of her hair and demanded anal in the dressing room. For the bruises, he'd left $400.

"You can leave if you're getting judgmental." She snaps and Becky narrows her eyes.

"They're never going to love you, you know." She sneers and Dani glances over her shoulder, seeing the hunger in the eyes of every man in the club, even as another girl takes the stage.

"They want me though." She says triumphantly. "Here." She hands Becky a $100. "For your curiosity. I'll go make triple that in the next 5 minutes. See you never, Becks. Tell ma that I'm still some California stripper. Send a Christmas card or something." With that, she saunters over to the table, where Jax is waiting with open arms.

* * *

 _Abel/Thomas and why they come back to Charming_

"Do you know why I came back to Charming?" Abel mutters, trailing his fingers along Willow's naked back.

"I have an idea." She mutters sleepily, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Ok, let's hear it." Abel leans back to look at her curiously and Willow raises her head to glance at him.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah." He insists. "I want to hear what you think are my reasons for coming back."

"Well," Willow props herself up on her elbows, searching his face. "It wasn't for me, because you didn't even know me then, but you know me now and you love me."

"I do." Abel says easily and even though they've said it thousands of time before, Willow can't stop the thrill of joy in her stomach at his words.

"No, it was for your dad." Willow settles in seriously, gazing at him. "So you could know him better. Because your mom wouldn't tell you stuff, wouldn't let you know about that side of you. The side that loved motorcycles and felt comfortable with a gun."

"That side of me." Abel muses. "Funny, I don't feel like it's a side of me anymore, I feel like it's all of me. Like that kid I was there was just like a shell of who I wanted to be."

"And you're who you want to be here?" Willow nudges him with her toes.

"Of course." He smiles sweetly at her. "Kutte on my back, old lady in my arms, kickass bike in my garage, family at the table, what more could I want?"

"I know what I want." Willow gives her left hand a pointed look and Abel laughs easily.

"Don't go snooping in my sock drawer then."

"Don't tease." Willow pokes him in the side.

"I'm not." He laughs, kissing her nose. Willow gives him a look that clearly shows exactly how skeptical she is.

"You know what surprised me though?" Willow says thoughtfully.

"What's that, darling?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Thomas coming back." Willow says slowly. "I didn't expect him to. He'd always been so…"

"Much better than the club?" Abel asks dryly and Willow frowns, smacking him.

"No." She says firmly then relents. "But uninterested in it. I mean, him graduating and coming back? Surprised me, that's all. Working in Stockton but traveling back? Getting a bike? Hanging around the club more? I just thought that maybe he'd move somewhere crazy, like L.A. or New York or Canada."

"He doesn't like the cold." Abel tells her. "So New York or Canada would be out."

"You know what I mean." Willow rolls her eyes.

"Yeah." He drops the jokes and turns serious. "But you have to remember that he lost his mom and dad before he was two. He knows nothing about them. When Mom moved back here, I think it gave him permission to come back to Charming too. It's nice to know you've got people watching your back."

"It's nice to be known in a small town." Willow sighs, thinking of all the people in Charming that know her. "I can get why that'd be appealing."

"I don't know if he'll go full SAMCRO though." Abel gathers her back into his arms. "But I think that's ok."

"Yeah, it is." Willow sighs in contentment. "They've got you, but I know Chibs wants the set of princes."

"How come you hate it when anyone else calls us that, but you get to all you want?" He questions and Willow's eyes sparkle with mischief as she kisses him.

"Because it drives you crazy too."

"Alright." He groans, getting up. "If you're going to drive me crazy, then I'm going to get breakfast."

"Pancakes please." Willow requests, pulling the blanket over her head. Abel grins at her then glances at the sock drawer. There's a small velvet box tucked in a pair of his dress socks, waiting for the right time. But first, pancakes.

 **AN:** I wanna write about the homeless chick but I just don't understand it. Hey any ideas or reviews, throw them my way. See you in two weeks for season 6! (holy shit.)


	67. Season 6- Straw

_"By the time you're old enough to make sense of this life you'll know everything about me."_

"It's not fair." Abel's eyes are blazing, but Wendy doesn't flinch, just crosses her arms and blinks once.

"Life isn't fair."

"Yeah, and my life is just more unfair than everyone else." Abel snaps and Wendy sighs, running her hands through her hair. "You know it's true."

"Abel, there are kids in the world who don't have food or water or roofs over their heads. So right now, you're looking pretty fortunate." She reminds him sharply and Abel rolls his bright blue eyes so high they practically leave his skull.

"Yeah, and all the other kids in the world have dads." He means for the barb to sting and he knows it does when his mother recoils just slightly.

"Abel." She sounds hurt, but he's in too deep now, so he keeps at it.

"And they get to know about their families and they get to talk about stuff and visit places. You won't talk about dad anymore!" Abel accuses.

"I have nothing left to tell you." Wendy mutters quietly. "I don't know what else to tell you."

"Mom," He takes a little pity here, because he can tell how upset she's getting. "You keep telling us the same stories from when we were kids, but that's not… Enough anymore."

"Abel, why can't it be?" She pleads, collapsing onto the couch and putting her head in her hands.

"Because it just isn't." Abel tells her, trying to figure out how to describe the ache in his chest at the thought of his father. At how it feels like he's missing something essential of himself, like a hand or his vision. How he doesn't feel complete anymore. How it gets harder and harder to stay here when it feels like there's a string tied around his wrist and it's dragging him back to Charming.

"I can't tell you anymore." Wendy admits and Abel looks at her in surprise. She's never told him this. "Honey, your dad… He was the man in those stories, I promise you. He was a good man, and an amazing father. But the rest Abel… The rest I can't tell."

"Why not?" Abel pushes and she takes a deep breath.

"Because it's easier to remember him as the father he was to you." Wendy presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. "It's easier to remember how much he loved you, how good he was with you and Thomas, how he would've protected you from the Devil himself. But the rest, all the other sides of him… He was a complicated man Abel."

"I know." Abel does, because he knows things about his dad, like how much his dad adored him, but the man died on a motorcycle on a highway, so obviously there are things there that Wendy hasn't explained. "But mom, you say this stuff about him, about how Tommy has his temper or how I have his sense of humor or how we look so much alike, but… It's not enough."

"Well it's going to have to be." Wendy snaps out of her melancholy and looks up at him, eyes flashing again. "Because I'm not going to talk about it anymore, got it?"

"Fine." Abel spins on his heels and slams the door on the way out of the house. He's so angry, he doesn't even realize where he's gone until he finds himself in front of the Harley-Davidson store, gleaming bikes in the window. With a deep breath, a part of his heart unclenches and he pushes the door open, feeling more relaxed than he ever has at home.

* * *

 _Abel and his uncles_

"Mama." Abel tugs on Tara's pants and she glances down at his wide eyes.

"Yes?" She asks, trying to fill a ziplock bag with grapes for a snack. Thomas is in his high chair, whimpering, and soon he'll progress to full blown wails, but Tara needs to pack lunches.

"We go?"

"Yes sweetheart, we're going to go." Tara tosses the shut bag in the cooler and darts to snatch Thomas from his seat when his breath hitches. The sobs subside nearly instantly at his mother's touch and she hurries to his bedroom to change his wet diaper.

"When?" Abel tags after her.

"Soon." Tara lays Thomas down and snaps his onsie open. "I have to change Thomas and finish packing lunches, but then we can go, ok?"

"Okay." Abel sits down on the floor, absentmindedly playing with Thomas's toys quietly. Tara glances over her shoulder at him and smiles.

"Why don't you go get dressed?" She offers. "If you get dressed, then we can go sooner. You can pick out whatever you want."

"Yeah?" He looks up, excited and she nods. He scrambles off to his room and she chuckles, grabbing a fresh diaper for Thomas. When her baby has a fresh, dry diaper, she puts him in a plain blue onsie with black pants, putting him on her hip and going to inspect Abel's progress.

"Whoa." She stops in surprise at the disaster. Pants, shorts, socks, underwear, and shirts litter the floor. Abel sits in the midst of it all, wearing pajama bottoms with trains and a shirt that has a cartoonish beast on it, with the lettering 'Grandma's favorite little monster' that must be a size too small.

"Done!" He proclaims, grinning widely and Tara opens her mouth to order him to change, then slowly closes it. They're just going to the clubhouse for the day, so someone else can watch them and Tara can catch up on her medical journals.

"Great." She offers him her hand. "Let's go." When they arrive at the clubhouse, Tara unbuckles him and let's him sprint for the men sitting at picnic table.

"Uncle Bobby! Uncle Tig!" He yells. "Uncle Chibs! Look, I dress me! Not mommy!"

"Did you?" Chibs scoops him up and tosses him into the air. "Explains a lot."

"Doesn't it?" Tara follows with Thomas, grinning. "I thought I'd let him win this battle."

"It's a good look." Tig tells Abel seriously.

"We swing?" Abel pumps Chibs's arm. "Please?"

"Yeah, little monster." Chibs puts out his cigarette and gestures for Abel to lead the way. Abel grabs Tig's hand too and pulls the both of the bikers to his playground, tubby belly hanging out of his shirt. Tara chuckles and hands Bobby Thomas.

"It's an interesting look." He comments, making faces at Thomas.

"What the hell is Abel wearing?" Gemma walks out of the office and over towards them with a frown. "I got him that shirt like last year."

"He dressed himself today." Tara shrugs off the diaper bag and hands it to her. "He seems to like it, since he picked it out."

"Oh." Gemma looks a little more pleased at that. "You going to go read?"

"Yeah." Tara kisses Thomas's head. "Their uncles can watch them."

* * *

 _"I don't take charity." – Lyla_

"Jesus christ." When Lyla looks up and sees Ken's face, she can't help but be startled. The three of them, Ellie, Ken, and Piper slink into the house, all avoiding her eyes. "What happened?"

"What?" Ellie pretends to play dumb, opening the fridge and getting juice for her and her siblings.

"Ken has a black eye!" Lyla struggles to keep her tone even, because the day she's feared for so long is finally here. They're going to start lashing out. It's only a matter of time before she gets the 'you're not my real mom' jabs she's been dreading.

"I fell." He proclaims, after glancing Ellie, who shakes her head minutely.

"Into's who's fist?" Lyla demands, annoyed, and he doesn't say a word, just sips on his juice while Piper squirms in discomfort. "Tell me."

"No one." He finishes off the juice easily and sullenly tosses the empty carton into the garbage. "Can I go to my room?"

"Absolutely not, not until you tell me what happened." Lyla folds her arms and uses her best mom voice on him.

"Nothing." Ken doesn't rile like he normally would, which might be the most worrisome part of it all.

"Ellie." Lyla turns to her daughter, who avoids meeting her eyes and slurps her empty juice so Lyla plays her trump card. "Piper?"

"Yeah?" He's trying too hard to seem indifferent, but Lyla's been able to read him since he was a baby. A little bit of pressure in the right area and he'll crack.

"What happened?" She asks soothingly. "What happened to Kenny? Did someone at school hit him?"

"Uh," He looks unsurely between his mother and Ellie. "Um, um, um,"

"If you tell me, we can have ice cream after supper." She says sweetly and before his siblings can slap their hands over his mouth, he blurts out,

"Jason Hernandez punched Ken cause he said we're trailer trash!"

"What?" Lyla rounds on Ken, who groans in exasperation.

"I told you we shouldn't have explained it to him." He glowers at his sister. "Mom, it's fine. He says it about everyone. All the club kids. Says we wear Walmart clothes and are on food stamps and that we're poor white trash. He thinks he's hot shit because his dad owns that restaurant or whatever. It's whatever."

"Did you punch him back?" Lyla asks, before she can help herself and Ken narrows his eyes.

"Promise you won't ground me either way?"

"Promise."

"Yeah, I did." He goes pink. "Hard, too. He cried."

"Ok, now you can go to your room." Lyla orders. "Peas are in the freezer." Grinning at not being in trouble, Ken grabs them.

"Do we get ice cream for supper?" Piper asks worriedly and Lyla chuckles, getting up to kiss the top of his head.

"Yes." She assures him. Once they've all scampered, she lets the smile slide off her face and sighs heavily. Her children shouldn't have to deal with this. They should have everything they deserve.

She knows that if she said something to club, things would be different. They'd do anything to help her, anything. But these are her kids. Opie trusted her with them and she's doing a damned good job on her own. Her stubbornness won't allow for her to take handouts.

But maybe she'll let the club get those new Nikes Ken has been wanting for ages, and a new phone for Ellie. Because she can't have Ken punching people, even if it does make her smile. His father's son.

* * *

 _Life of a Nomad- Bowen_

The whole world is shit in comparison to Ireland, he decides while driving through Montana. Sure, America is the home of the free and the brave, and everything else. And the mountains are beautiful. And Vegas is God's gift to man, honestly.

But he wishes he could go nomad in Ireland. He loves being nomad, honestly wonders how he did anything else. He knows, of course, in the back of his mind, exactly what kept him anchored to Charming, but he has to forget all that now. The open road helps.

If he thought he knew freedom the day he left his mother's house, it's nothing compared to this. Him and his bike. That's all it is. That's all that matters. Him, his bike, and the open road. Endless possibilities.

It starts to all sort of pass in a blur of faces, places, and parties. Blond stripper who hung him from the ceiling, sunset over the pacific, bad acid trip in the middle of the Redwood forest, holy shit gang wars in Chicago don't fuck around, nearly getting shot for sleeping with some Hell's Angel's old lady, world's largest frying pan, get the fuck out of Michigan before it snows, a threesome in Tampa, stomach pumped in Nashville, and more.

He looks back on the map and sees stories and memories that litter the United States and they tug up his lips into a smile, but he would rather be in Ireland. The plains of Oklahoma can't compare to the Cliffs of Kerry. New York at night has nothing on Grafton Street. He finds himself homesick, even as he passionately declares that nowhere is home for him.

Nomad is good for him, stops the itchiness in his feet when the desire to run gets too strong. Nomad means that he can ignore the calls from Charming, though not from Willow. He can be in St. Louis and still fears her wrath. But nomad is also isolation, for long periods of time, and he feels like he might go mad occasionally.

He can't go back, he realizes, as he sits on his bike and looks out over a vast forest in the midst of dropping the brilliant fall leaves. He's seen too much, gotten too accustomed to silence and his own mind. If he goes back, it'll be for a short time. Then he'll need to leave again. But he has to say goodbye.

When he slips into Charming, trying not to make a fuss, he hugs his brothers, but seeks out Quinn, the one who encouraged him to go Nomad in the first place. Quinn sees the look in his eyes and just nods, knowing without a word what Bowen must do.

A year later, SAMBEL has it's own nomad charter and Bowen feels that maybe, just maybe, he's at peace.

* * *

 _"I think I kinda miss this place." Wendy comes home_

She hadn't meant for it to happen. Not at all. For so long, the very idea of Charming, of coming back to it, even for visit much less to live, threw up huge roadblocks in her mind. Then Abel left and she'd been pissed, but she hadn't followed.

Let him go. Let him figure it out. Let him see that it's not a romantic haze of bikes and hot women. Let him see the grit and the blood and the pain and he'll come home. When he didn't, not right away, sheer stubbornness was the only thing that kept her from heading to Charming to pull him out by the ear.

Then she'd gotten the call from Tig. Abel and Willow- Willow Winston, Opie's daughter, the little girl she'd once known- kidnapped, held hostage. Missing. Dangerous. More out there, could come after Thomas. No one's safe anymore.

She'd fled to Charming with staggering ease. It was like a reflex, going to where she felt safe. Safe was SAMCRO and Charming and she didn't bother reflecting on that bitter irony because she was too terrified for her son to even care.

She was an idiot for thinking that it could ever be a temporary stop. Her mind had been so one track, so focused on getting Abel back and making sure he was ok, that she hardly paused to think of the future and what it meant. She should've known that bringing Thomas home, to where Jax and Tara's memories were the strongest, that he wouldn't so easily leave again.

And she didn't want to, that was the infuriating part. It was easy to slip back into the club, back into the way of life. Chibs, Tig, Happy, all welcomed her back with open arms, reminding her that she did a good job with their boys. That she was a good mom. She felt validated, respected, and comforted.

She kept promising herself she'd leave. But Thomas left for college and Abel bought a little two bedroom house six blocks from the clubhouse and suddenly her world was Charming, plain and simple. It was the club, it was the next generation of kids she watched over, the women who welcomed her with open arms.

Sure, the memories haunted her. It was nearly impossible to sit in the clubhouse and not envision Gemma slinking around the corners, to see Jax sitting, smoking, at the head of the table, Tara holding Abel on her hip outside, eyes narrowed. But it's home and one day Wendy looks up to see her sons and their wives laughing, keeping careful eyes on the brood of grandchild, and it hits her that moving back to Charming might have been the best choice she ever made.

* * *

 _Gemma/Willow initiating the prospects_

"Holy shit." Kyle cranes his neck to get a better look at the dark haired woman striding by, her arm looped with a blonde woman. "Who is that?"

"My mom." Jax smacks him upside the back of his head and Kyle laughs, letting out a long whistle of appreciation, unbothered by Jax's glaring.

"Dude, your mom is hot."

"Shut the fuck up." Jax warns and Opie snorts, taking a drag of his cigarette. "Not another word about my mother."

"Ok man, but she's damn fine. Ass and tits, whole package." Laughing, Kyle ducks Jax's punch.

"She's Clay's old lady, you jackass." Opie reminds him, as Jax seethes.

"Damn." Pretending to be put out, Kyle shrugs. "Well, still. Hot."

"I've got a gun, you dumbass."

"Oi!" Piney yells. "Table, now!"

"Keep your hands off my mom." Jax orders as he and Opie walk into the clubhouse and Kyle chuckles, then heads back to the garage to work. Gemma pauses in the doorway, looking at him and he flashes her a grin. She retreats back into the office and he keeps cleaning out the garage.

"Prospect!" Clay bellows, when the men walk back out of the clubhouse. Kyle pops up from under a truck.

"Yeah, pres?"

"Heard you been eyeing my old lady." Clay folds his arms and eyeballs Kyle distrustingly. Kyle refuses to gulp, but it's a close thing. "The whole package, as I believed you called her."

"Sir," Kyle says slowly. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

"Sure." Jax sits down on the picnic table and lights a smoke, amused. Kyle wants to glare at him but he doesn't dare take his eyes off Clay.

"Hey, prospect." Gemma calls and he turns slowly. She grabs his shirt and pulls him in, kissing him hard on the mouth. He's too stunned to react, going rigid. Clay's going to beat the shit out of him. So is Jax. And likely the rest of the club.

"Sir— I— Jax, I—" He blabbers, when Gemma releases him. "I didn't mean to!"

"Of course you didn't sweetheart." Gemma smacks his butt. "But now you got that out of your system, carry on."

"What the hell?" He demands weakly when Gemma saunters off.

"Dude, did you honestly think that I haven't been told every day of my life how hot my mom is?" Jax snaps his fingers. "Go get me a beer."

"Yeah." Still a little dazed, Kyle stumbles back into the clubhouse to the taunts of the other men, trying to decide if what he feels is love or just a large amount of lust.

(-)

"They're staring." Abel mutters in Willow's ear and she laughs, throwing her hair back and taking another drink of her beer.

"Are they?" She asks innocently. "I hadn't noticed."

"Liar." Abel says with frank admiration. "You love the attention."

"Do I?" Willow takes another drink. "And you love when you know that you're the only guy in the room I want."

"I do." Abel kisses her temple. "Go, have fun. Scare them a little bit. It's so amusing when you do."

"Love you." With a grin, Willow bounds away and Abel watches her go with a small smile on his face.

"Did you send her to traumatize the prospects?" Ken asks, taking the spot Willow has vacated.

"Yeah." Abel grins as Willow slinks into the midst of them, tossing her head back and beaming.

"Then you're going to go in and threaten to kick their asses because she's your old lady and they need to learn to keep their hands to themselves?" Ken continues.

"Yeah."

"Sweet. Can I join you as the protective big brother?"

"Yeah."

"Great, let me finish this beer."

When Willow sits down on one prospect's lap, Ken drains the last of his beer and tosses it aside. He glances at Abel and raises any eyebrow, who grins and gestures for him to continue. Ken claps, standing and striding over to the cluster of prospects and hang arounds. He and Abel loom over them, mouths pressed tightly shut, acting furious while trying to hold back giggles on the inside.

"Ken," Timmy, a rail thin man with a shaved head, tries to keep Willow from twining herself around him. "Look, man, I didn't…"

"Oh shush." Willow snakes her long fingers around the back of his neck and pulls him into her chest, right into her cleavage. "Better?"

"The hell?" Timmy says weakly.

"See, now you guys don't have to be all weird about looking at my tits." Willow explains cheerfully.

"We weren't— I wasn't—" Timmy tries to lie and Abel can't help but crack, snorting with laughter.

"Yeah, we know." He says easily. "Still, hands off my lady." Timmy instantly relinquishes his hands from Willow and she stands, kissing Abel deeply.

"See fellas, now we're all friends." She says brightly. "No more being awkward. Honey, do you want another beer?"

"Please, angel." Abel kisses her cheek and she struts off.

"Dude," Patty, an Irish transplant, watches Willow go with eyes shinning in appreciation. "You know how lucky you are?"

Abel wants to tell him how glad he is each and every day, how he knows he's the luckiest man in the world, how he doesn't deserve her. But instead he just watches Willow get a beer for him and tease Rat, throwing a mock punch. He grins and glances at Patty, saying instead, "Should see her naked."

"Alright, enough, that's still my little sister!"

* * *

 _Tig and babies_

"Oh, shit, Jax." Phil catches Jax's arm as he tries to stalk out.

"What?" Jax asks brusquely, impatient to get back out into the streets and solve his problems. The alarm on Phil's face, however, stops him.

"Uh," Phil just points over Jax's shoulder and he follows his gaze to the couch. "Should we…"

"What?" Jax looks in confusion at the scene. Bobby is sitting in a chair, beer in hand, reading a battered old book. Abel is playing with trains and cars on the floor near his knee, making little noises as he plays. Tig is reclining on the couch, blowing raspberries on Thomas's exposed stomach as Thomas giggles.

"The baby." Phil says urgently and Jax cranes his neck, then looks at him in disbelief.

"What, Thomas?"

"Yeah." Phil chances a glance. "Should Tig… Have a kid?"

"Listen." Jax grins, clapping him on the back, unable to stop his snort of amusement. "Thomas has never been more safe than in this moment. Less you pissed my mom off."

"Really?" Phil trails him outside, eyes wide. "I didn't, I mean, I guess… Bad."

"Listen." Jax rounds on him when the door slams shut and Tig can no longer hear them. "You like kids right?"

"Yeah." Phil says instantly.

"So does Tig." Jax reveals. "Especially babies. He's weird as fuck, trust me. We know. But the man loves kids, and he'd die before he hurt one. Like the dogs."

"But are they safe with him?" Phil asks worriedly. "He's not gonna… Drop him?"

"No." Jax shakes his head. "He's a dad, you know. Probably several times over, but… He's good with kids. And they like him. Probably cause they don't know how strange he actually is."

"I just…" Phil hesitates, glancing over his shoulder at the black door. "I wonder, you know? If it's safe?"

"It is." Jax clasps his shoulder. "Trust me. That's my son and I'd never willingly put him in harm's way. Tig isn't the world's greatest babysitter, but he'd die to protect my kid, like you. But he just does it differently."

"He's a weird dude Jax." Phil shakes his head.

"Yeah, but he's great with kids. And you can't deny it." Jax gives him a pointed look then hops on his bike and peels out. Still a little nervous, Phil walks back inside and relaxes. Tig has Thomas standing on his chest, laughing and talking to the baby. Thomas is trying to balance on his legs, occasionally bouncing up and down. Tig does look like a natural.

 **AN:** Back for season 6, holy crap, I can't believe we're getting so close to the end. A lot of references to First Son universe... If you guys leave me prompts, I think I might like to write some more of that! (and if you haven't read it, go check it out.) Second to last season, here we go!


	68. Season 6- One One Six

_"You ok mom?" Tara's not ok_

There's no way in hell she's ok. Not where she still can see the blood of that nurse spilling across the backs of her eyelids every time she closes her eyes. Not when the image of Otto murdering her, over and over, plays on a loop in her head, constantly.

Not when her children, her boys, screamed while she was putting in a cop car and taken away from them. When she wanted nothing more than comfort them and instead she was powerless to stop the thing that was hurting them, and instead had to pull away, abandoning them.

Not where she still can't sleep from the memories of prison, when she doesn't feel safe, like someone might jump from the shadows to hurt her. Not when she's on edge, feeling like she's trapped in a cage, baring her teeth, no way out.

Not when she can't trust anyone anymore, not Jax, not Gemma, not a single soul but herself because anyone and everyone is trying to take her kids from her. Keep her in Charming. Keep them in danger. No one understands that she is doing the right thing, she is trying to save her sons.

Not when she doesn't recognize the woman in the mirror anymore. This girl, with dark, sad eyes, lines, frowning, short haired and serious. A doctor. A felon. A mother. A criminal. A sinner. A desperate soul. Not when she doesn't know who she is anymore.

Not when all she wants is for peace, for quiet, for clarity, for the knowledge that she's going to do the right thing for her boys.

Not when all she has is scars and ruined dreams and the terrifying feeling that soon, she'll lose it all.

* * *

 _Tara's haircut/Prison_

"Nice hair." The woman that sneers it is a ginger, missing most of her teeth. Tara wants to protectively run a hand through her dark brown locks, but she doesn't dare. She knows how weakness will be construed in here.

"Thanks." She says shortly, depositing her stuff on her bunk. "Know where I can get it cut?"

"Really?" The woman sits up, surprised by Tara's backbone. "Ain't gonna try to maintain that?"

"No." Tara thinks about long hair and cat fights and how well that'll work. In here, the less she has to worry about, the better. "No, it has to go."

"Well, shit, there's a salon down the hall. Can ask a guard to take you there, but they get pretty pissy about it." She warns her.

"I'll be extra persuasive." Tara says grimly.

When she finally gets to the salon, she's wound her hair up into a ponytail, mouth set. The stylist, a bored woman with long nails painted blood red, shoves her into the seat.

"Whatchu want?" She demands roughly and Tara stares at herself in the mirror. Thin, pale face. Hazel eyes. Her mother's eyes. Lips, pursed. Lines forming on her forehead and around her eyes. Hair, long, dark, silky, beautiful.

"Short." Her voice sounds far away. "Just short."

"Yeah, ok." The stylist pops her gum and turns up the 80's heavy metal on her radio. Tara flinches when the scissors take away the first 8 inches, then more and more. She feels a sort of numbness creep over her heart as she watches herself lose her hair.

The hair that tied her to the outside world, marked her as normal, as privileged. Better than all the other women in here. But she's one of them now, sitting and wasting inside prison. So it must go. But that doesn't mean that her heart doesn't split just a little when she loses it.

"Thanks." Tara says, when it's all over, because it could be worse. She could be bald, but instead she just has choppy layers framing her face. Not the worst haircut she's ever had. There were bangs in college that were awful, but this may be a close second.

She walks back to her bunk with her head held high, squashing the urge to reach up and run her fingers through her shorn locks. She can't be self conscious, not here. No weakness. But when she gets to her bunk, she lets herself curl around her pillow and squeeze her eyes shut to stop the tears.

* * *

 _"You were an amazing old lady." Clay's initial attraction_

"Fuck." Clay nearly drops his whiskey when the door to clubhouse opens and a group of women stride in.

"What?" Piney glances at the girls then snorts in amusement. "Oh, yeah, you missed something while you were in Nevada."

"What?" Clay asks, watching hungrily as the leader of the women strides up to the bar without hesitation, ordering a shot and downing it in one smooth go. His jaw drops in astonishment.

She's on the taller side, and all legs. Girl's practically made of them. The tight leather skirt doesn't do them justice, but it comes close with the heels, high and shining, and the corset top that puts her breasts on display. Her dark hair is long, tossed over her shoulder, curly and thick. Her eyes are dark and thickly lined, lips a deep red. Clay's speechless.

"Her." Piney takes a drink of his own beer.

"Her." Clay echoes, a little faintly, because he's not sure how to breath. She catches him staring and grins slowly, sauntering over.

"Hey, Piney." She greets him, though her eyes are on Clay.

"Gemma, meet Clay." Piney introduces them.

"Gemma." She offers him her hand. "Nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

"All good, I hope." He presses a kiss to her knuckles and she laughs.

"That depends." She flutters her eyelashes.

"On?" He asks, relishing this dance. Instead, it gets cut off when John leaves chapel, throwing the door open with a loud bang. Gemma's attention is instantly diverted over to him and with a grin, struts his way, stopping any girl who may have gotten there first with a glance.

"Hey baby." John greets her with a long kiss and a slap on the ass. Gemma procures a beer for him instantly and sits on his lap as he slumps in a seat to talk to Otto.

"Oh." Clay watches them, as Gemma slowly rakes her nails through John's long hair, mouth raised in a triumphant smirk.

"You missed that too." Piney slaps him on the back. "Guess John got to her first."

"Yeah." Clay says tonelessly, squashing down the fountain of jealousy that's sprung up in his stomach. He settles for a fake blonde with bigger tits, but he can't help that all night, his eyes wander back to Gemma.

She's like a dark temptress, an angel of the night, the grim reaper's beautiful sidekick. Clay follows the swing of her hips, her ass when she bends over, her mouth puckering up to take a sip of the Jack and Coke and he'd kill to be that alcohol that passes her lips.

And she's John's. With every touch, every kiss, every look, he's reminded again that he is just second best, runner up again to the great John Teller. And when the blonde pulls him to bed, he goes, closes his eyes, and pretends she's Gemma.

* * *

 _Jax kills risks- doesn't protect innocents anymore_

"She's got to die Op." Jax mutters. He can practically hear Opie's response, see his reaction.

Opie crosses his arms and looks down at him, eyebrows raised, face impassive.

"Really?" He questions and Jax wants to groan. He's been chasing rationalizations around in his head all day, swinging back and forth.

"She has to die." He states flatly and Opie exhales loudly through his nose, shaking his head.

"You honestly believe that?" He demands. "You, of all people, honestly think that an innocent woman, a grieving mother, needs to die?"

"Yes." Jax breathes. "To keep my family safe, to keep my club safe, she has to. She'll rat, Op."

"She just lost her kid Jax!" Opie reminds him forcefully. "Her son! Imagine that was you! Not realizing that Abel was too deep in shit until he kills kids and himself!"

"Don't." Jax holds up a hand to stop that train of thought.

"Then think about how you'd feel if someone killed Tara, just because they were scared she'd rat." Opie keeps pressing him and Jax wants to rip his hair out in frustration.

"I get it, ok?" He shouts. "I get it, I get it! But I can't trust her. She's a junkie."

"So was Abel's birth mother." Opie says cooly and Jax glares. "She was, and you know it. You'd kill her?"

"Some days." Jax mumbles, but now his mind's ticking away, thinking about mothers and wayward sons, devastation and despair.

"This isn't you, Jax." Opie mutters quietly. "It isn't. You're not the kind of person to kill innocents. That's Clay, not you."

"And I'm not a little bit him?" Jax shoots back and Opie rolls his eyes.

"No, you're not." He says firmly. "You think you are. You justify things by saying that. But you're not, you know it. You can't hurt her Jax. You can't."

"She's going to turn." Jax sighs heavily. "She'll turn and it'll destroy the club. If the club folds, how long does all of Sons last? If I don't leave this club intact, how long do I last? How do I get my boys out of Charming? How do I save them? How do I keep us whole if she turns?" He quizzes Opie, who now goes silent. "She has to die!"

"You're going to do what you have to do." He says finally, quietly. "You're going to do what you think you have to. Not what's right. And you're going to live with the burden."

"I know." Jax subconsciously touches his shoulder. "Another death that I caused. Add it to the tally."

"Don't kill her." Opie says easily. "Don't. You know it's not what I would've wanted."

"You're dead." Jax reminds himself. "You're dead and gone, because I failed to protect you. That's why I have to do this." He stands, rolling his shoulders back and settling into his resolve. "I have to protect my people. No matter the cost."

* * *

 _Juice's hopes for the future_

He's always been a simple man, when it all comes down to it. He'd wanted a place where he belonged. He's found that in SAMCRO. The second he settled, found that he fit, his world shifts to align with it.

At first, his only goal had been getting a kutte. A prospect kutte, then a patch. It hadn't been easier either. The club was brutal and prospects were hardly more than grunts. But Juice didn't mind, not when he went to bed at night and dreamed about the day he wore a reaper on his back with pride.

Once he had that reaper, it was official. Any hopes and dreams he had revolved around the club, around what the club wanted for him, what was best for the club, anything and everything he could do for the club. His decisions weren't his own anymore, not really, and he was ok with that. Because he had a purpose.

The future had been simple then. It had been all about proving himself, accumulating patches. Men of Mayhem, VP, Pres, all of them. He'd wanted them all, a kutte filled with them, showing everyone that Juice belonged.

There had been moments, of course, when he wondered about other things. A house. A wife. A kid or two. The typical, cookie cutter lifestyle the whole world expected from him. Normal. Boring. But safe, at the same time. And he's always wanted to be a dad.

But the club takes that and erases it, moving his desires back into a simple, linear format. Wake up in the morning. Make it through to day to fall asleep at night. Don't die. Navigate the minefield that is his life and the club and Charming as a whole, feeling like he's drifting further and further from who he wanted to be, back when he was just a bright eyed prospect.

But he thinks sometimes, with a fit of blind hope, that maybe one day he'll make it past it all. He'll come out the other end. He'll settle down with a girl. Have a kid or two. Take a second and learn to be a dad some days. Live to see 30, maybe 40. 50 seems too unattainable.

Take more time to see the world. Hop on his bike and go. Maybe somewhere like Montana, Miami, NYC, it'd be fun. Watch the sun rise. Watch the sun set. Do more yoga. Find peace.

He's got hopes for his future.

 **AN:** So Juice breaks my heart, and so does season 6 Jax. Thanks to all who review and leave me notes, they make me smile!


	69. Season 6- Poenitentia

_Gemma in churches_

They make her itchy. For some reason, the second Gemma sees a cross, she's 7 years old again, wearing a scratchy dresses and polished shoes with bobby socks, hairspray holding her hair in curls, anxious.

It's like Rose can still see her, the second she slides into a pew. She can still hear Rose's whispers to sit up straight, behave, be good, don't fidget, don't slump, don't say a word. Every time she steps into a church, the overwhelming urge to run nearly forces her back out.

She doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's the stillness. Maybe it's the way the dust floats down through the filtering lights, colored red and blue and green by stained glass windows. The stifling, oppressive silence that follows every click of her heels on the cold, hard floor.

Maybe it's how she feels claustrophobic, even with the vaulted ceiling and arches. She feels like she's being cornered, even as she has plenty of space to breathe. It's maddening, a contradiction of what she knows to be true and how her body reacts, nonetheless.

But most of all, she just feels angry. Deep-seated anger directed at everyone any anyone. At her mother, the mother she loathes and fears, even after the woman's death. At her father, the saint and the sinner, the pastor, then father. At every judgmental person who'd ever looked down their noses at her. At anyone who thinks that going to church Sunday morning excuses everything they do the other 6 days of the week.

She just doesn't see the point, that's all. Why would anyone ever ask for something when they could just go out there and take it? God doesn't grant you shit. You take it from the world. There's no other way to do it, it's that simple. She doesn't see why that makes them so high and mighty.

She's not a good person, hell if she doesn't know that, she doesn't know anything. But Gemma's made her peace with it. She's fine with it by now. But every time she walks back into a church, she's reminded time and time again that she's still that timid girl, a moment away from her mother's too-tight grasp, terrified of the hell Rose threatened her with.

Hell, Gemma reflects, is probably just one damn cathedral, sentencing them all to suffer.

* * *

 _Making friends the Gemma way_

Gemma strides into the clubhouse, stopping to looking around with a critical eye. Sure, she's only been around for a month, a little longer. But she's established her territory. John Teller belongs to Gemma, and everyone knows that. Except the blonde porn star laughing and talking to him, resting a hand on his arm.

That can't stand. Gemma knows it. Give an inch, they'll take a mile. It's an unwritten rule, you let your a girl get with your man and next thing you know, you're off the throne. Gemma's just got a taste of power, true power. She's not giving that up for anything.

So she strides over, grabs the bitch by her hair, and yanks, toppling her backwards off her sky-high platforms with a yell. Gemma looks down at her, smirking, while John chuckles and takes a drink of his beer.

"What the fuck?" The blonde demands and Gemma crosses her arms.

"Hands off him, whore." Gemma spits.

"I didn't have my hands on him!" The blonde stumbles to her feet, eyes blazing.

"Really?" Gemma scoffs. "Hoping you might get to suck his dick? Keep walking."

"I wouldn't want to suck his dick." The blonde says hotly and Gemma laughs. Everyone wants John. Everyone wants to be queen.

"Alright, learn your place." Gemma orders, throwing a right hook that catches the hooker by surprise, nearly knocking her down.

"Crazy bitch." She mutters, spitting blonde and tenderly touching her lip. "I have a shoot tomorrow. You'll pay for that."

"Will I?" Gemma taunts, before the blonde launches herself at Gemma, all nails. It quickly devolves into an ugly catfight, though it's brief. John eventually pulls them apart with the help of Otto, both of them seemingly amused.

"What's this all about?" Otto asks mildly as the rest of the men in the club groan at the loss of the entertainment.

"Gemma here seems to think that Luann wants to suck my dick." John responds with ease.

"Luann." Otto looks at blonde in his arms, panting, with her hair wild and blood still on her lip. "Do you want to suck John's dick?"

"Not for all the money in the world." Luann says harshly.

"That's good." Otto lets her go. "Gemma, meet my old lady, Luann. Luann, meet Gemma."

"You're his old lady?" Gemma asks, glancing between Luann and Otto.

"Yeah honey." Luann tries to comb out her hair. "So I didn't want your man. Don't flatter yourself that I see you as competition."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop fighting my friend's women, please." John tells Gemma politely, then slaps her on the ass and releases her. "Go clean up."

"C'mon." Gemma says grudgingly to Luann. "I got a brush in my room."

"You staying here?" Luann asks her, interestedly, following her back to the dorm room Gemma's claimed as her own since she'd met John.

"Yeah." Gemma leads her into the dorm room. "Don't got another place. Sure as hell not moving back in with my parents, you know?"

"And hoping you'll end up at John's?" Luann asks knowingly, taking the brush Gemma offers her as Gemma cleans up her makeup.

"Hoping." Gemma admits and Luann nods.

"Did the same thing with Otto. Once you're in their house, you're in their head. Make it into a home, give them regular sex and do their laundry, and soon they won't know how to function without you." She advises, grinning. Gemma finds herself smiling back, even as her lip swells up.

"Sorry about that." She admits. Luann waves a hand.

"Trust me, I've cut a bitch for even thinking about going near Otto. You protect what's yours." She hands Gemma the brush and swipes the eyeliner from her, touching hers up. "You throw a good punch."

"Thanks." Gemma says slowly. "Learned that in Vegas."

"Good place to know how to punch." Luann grins then gingerly pokes her swelling cheek. "Let's go get the frozen peas from the freezer. I've got a shoot tomorrow."

"You do porn?" Gemma asks her, straightening out her outfit.

"Yeah." Luann shrugs, like it's nothing, before brightening. "But I've started directing more. Trying to get behind the camera for a change!" She eyes Gemma.

"What?" Gemma asks and Luann loops their arms.

"I think we're going to be friends, Gemma." She declares, walking with Gemma back out to the party. "Really good friends."

* * *

 _Wendy gets the boys in the future_

Wendy stares in astonishment at the sight in front of her. It's mundane, in all honesty, but the fact that it's so normal is what's mystifying to her. It's Abel and Thomas on a playground. Tommy is more fascinated by the swings than anything else, while Abel, ever the daredevil, can't be pulled away from the monkey bars.

The other moms at the playground are sitting around on theirs phones or with books, talking to friends, but not Wendy. She's just watching in amazement as the two boys play. It's a sight she never thought she'd see.

It's nearly cost her everything to get to this point. Her sobriety, her sanity, her soul. It cost her Jax, a man she'd loved, Gemma, a woman she respected, and Tara, a woman she'd admired. It cost her boys every family member they ever could've had.

But in spite of all that, they're still there. Still breathing. Still playing, laughing as they swing and run and tumble. They're still there. And with her. She'd never once thought she'd be allowed to see Abel, much less raise him and Thomas.

It's a little heartbreaking, knowing how they've gotten here. It's hard to look at her boys and think of how much pain they know, so young. But she knows they're brave boys, good boys, and they'll grow up strong. She'll make sure of that.

But she'd never thought she'd get them. Even when Tara died, it was always a nagging suspension in the back of her mind that perhaps Gemma would get them. Or Jax would take them and run and never come back.

But she has them. She has two wonderful, sassy, energetic, smart, active boys. Boys with Jax's eyes and her smile and Tara's nose. Brothers, almost identical, sons of Jax Teller. Perfect and breathing and alive, because of sacrifices others have made for her and them.

She feels her eyes well with tears when Thomas reaches for his brother's hand to help him clamber up the stairs. Abel is patient, waiting for Thomas's shorter legs to reach. It's a simple moment. Utterly mundane. No other parent here would normally bat an eye at that. But to Wendy, it's everything that she's here. To see them grow up.

So many aren't.

* * *

 _Bright white Opie patch_

It's out of place, Jax reflects. It doesn't belong there. Not on his dirty, dusty kutte, well worn. Every other patch on his kutte is a little ragged, showing their age.

His whole kutte is honestly. It's broken in, comfortable, supple and warm. He still remembers when it was once stiff in his hands, how heavy the weight felt on his shoulders, how he felt like he had the whole world on his back when he wore it.

All the patches that he'd chosen with love. The sickles, one for Tommy, one for John. His VP patch, how his mother cried the day he sewed it on. All of the patches, but this one is different. It stands out. It's new.

He'd sought it out, made sure that he got one quickly. He didn't want to push it off. And even though his hands trembled as he sewed it on, he'd done it with the utmost precision. His best friend deserves nothing less.

Jax goes nowhere without his kutte. Now, he'll take him with him wherever he goes. The President patch, still a surprise when he looks down and sees it, and the new, startling white memorial to a man who deserved more. Deserves more. But this is what Jax can do.

He thinks it's fitting, perhaps, more so than a tombstone or a crypt. That's not where he'd be anyways. He'd be with Jax, like he's always been with Jax, on the road, bike beneath, seeking out death, defying him at every turn.

It hurts though, the sight of it on the well loved kutte. A stiff, bright white patch to reflect a still raw and broken heart. Jax should do more. He should do more. But he can't. So instead it's a new, white patch, pristine.

Every time Jax puts on the kutte, he carries with him the ghosts of those he's loved and lost.

* * *

 _"Secrets are what I do." –Gemma_

Gemma has always had secrets, since the very beginning. Once, they were the only thing that connected her to Rose.

"Mama?" Gemma carefully pokes her head around the door. Her mother is still in bed and Gemma's stomach is rumbling and usually she wouldn't bother Rose but she's hungry and her father is gone.

"Oh." Rose rolls over, blinking her eyes in the darkness of the bedroom. "Gemma?"

"Are you sick?" Gemma asks, because the only time she's seen her mother stay in bed this long is when she was throwing up and her father had to take them all to the hospital.

"Sort of." Rose sits up against the pillows. "But not with the kind of sickness you can get. Are you hungry?"

"Yes." Gemma admits, still not daring to step a foot inside. "I can make cereal." She offers, hoping that will please Rose. She knows where the box is, and bowls. But she likes milk in her cereal and she's not allowed to pour it without her father's help.

"No, no." To her surprise, Rose stands and slides out of bed. "I can make you breakfast."

Gemma sits quietly at the counter, waiting for her food, watching her mother in apprehension. Rose seems happy. She's still in a robe, which baffles Gemma, because Rose never wears the soft, warm robe for very long. She's singing and smiling, making Gemma breakfast.

"Thank you." Gemma says politely when Rose sets a waffle with strawberries in front of her.

"Can you keep a secret?" Rose asks her suddenly, beaming, and Gemma nods, unsure. "You promise that you won't tell anyone? It'll just be me and you?" Rose asks, leaning forward so their foreheads touch.

"Yes." Gemma smiles, enjoying the playfulness of her mother.

"Mommy has a baby in her belly." Rose whispers. "And it's going to grow and grow and grow until you have a little brother or sister. We're going to have a baby."

"A baby?" Gemma knows what babies are. She plays with baby dolls with some girls at church. How does one of those fit in her mother's stomach?

"Yes." Rose kisses her forehead. "But you mustn't tell anyone. It's just for us."

"Ok." Gemma says quietly and vows that she won't tell a single soul, if it means that Rose will stay like this, happy and warm, forever.

Once, they were the thing that tied her to John Teller.

"No, I get it." Gemma laughs, swiping his drink between puffs on the cigarette.

"Do you?" John watches her, amused. "Do you really?"

"Yes." Gemma promises. "It's like an animal instinct thing. Monkeys see who can fling their shit farthest. Humans see who can pee the farthest. I grew up with a little brother, trust me, I know."

"And does he still do it?" John ask, swiping the bottle back.

"Don't know." Gemma says quietly. "He never lived to get his drivers license, let along drink with friends and do this kind of thing."

"Ah, Gem, I'm sorry." John says, gazing at her with his baby blues and when she looks at him, she sees that he is sorry, really sorry, and she manages a small smile.

"Thank you." She says honestly. "I miss him, but I've spent more and more time without him. It's hard, you know? To wish that he was here and know that nothing I do, ever, will change that."

"Yeah." John wraps an arm around her. "I always wanted to grow up in a big family. Never did though and I think that's why I went without protest when I got drafted. Thought maybe the army would be a good place for me. Find some brotherhood, some family. But they twist family up in there. Twist it into something warped and bad and awful. And I was a grown man, fighting for my country, but I was somehow still that lonely kid deep inside, you know?"

"Yeah." Gemma pulls her legs up to her chest. "Sometimes I'm still the scared little girl getting dragged to church to sit still and behave or else."

"I think that's why this club is what it is." John glances back at his bike. "Why it's so special. Because it fills that void."

"I get that too." Gemma snuggles into him. "I get what it's like to be happy to belong."

"You know, I don't think I've ever told anyone about my past like that." John muses and Gemma hides a smile.

"Don't worry. I'm good at keeping secrets."

Then, they were the things to keep her in power.

"Gemma." Clay growls, as he slams the door shut. "He's gone."

"Is he?" Gemma plays dumb, still reading, like she doesn't know that John and the club have gone to Washington for a long weekend and she'd stayed home and so had Clay.

"Bedroom." Clay picks her up and Gemma laughs, throwing her arms around him as his teeth find her neck. "Now."

"You know, this is the best part of my week." Gemma informs him, running her fingers lightly over Clay's chest.

"Yeah?" Clay rolls over and looks at her. "Then why can't it happen every night Gem? Not just weekends."

"You know why." She snuggles into his chest. "Because he's still here."

"He doesn't have to be." Clay mutters and Gemma keeps her eyes closed, still stroking his chest.

"I know." She says quietly. "I know."

"He's going to Washington to talk about the club's future." Clay's getting into his rant now and Gemma stays quiet, listening to him. "About getting out of guns. He's weak Gemma, weak. He's going to destroy this thing we've worked so hard to create and protect…"

"Mhmm." Gemma nods, as Clay goes on.

"And that's why we have to do something." Clay kisses her neck. "Us, Gemma, the strong ones."

"What?" Gemma snuggles a little closer.

"Gem, if we do something, we can protect this. The club, the future, our relationship. The two of us and us alone." He whispers and it's seductive. Gemma hides a smile, twining her fingers in his hair.

"We can't force him out." She mummers.

"Yes we can." He kisses her again. "Imagine it. Me, president. You, queen. The club strong. We could do this Gemma."

"I don't know." She kisses his shoulder.

"I love you Gemma." Clay says passionately. "And I will do anything to have you be mine."

"I love you." She promises him back.

"Good." He kisses her head and embracing her close. "We're going to do this Gem, together. We'll figure it out, together. We'll make sure that we can be together in the future."

 **AN:** Writer's block is hitting me hard guys, but your reviews make me come back to this story! Thank you! Leave another on your way out?


	70. Season 6- Wolfsangel

_Jax as an early riser_

"Jesus Christ." John Teller stumbles out of bed and heads for the nursery, cursing under his breath. The wails of a baby fill the entire house and he questions how something so small can muster up such force. "I'm coming Jax."

The sun isn't even up yet. The sky is lightening up but the weak rays have yet to raise up over the horizon. John checks the clock in Jax's room. 4:09. Groaning, he looks down at the little boy in the crib.

"You're lucky your mother is such a heavy sleeper." He mutters, reaching down and plucking Jax up. "And that I'm actually home for a change. Alright, what's your deal?" He demands, inspecting his still whimpering son.

Diaper is dry. Room is warm, but not hot. Last feeding was little over two hours ago. Doesn't want a pacifier. Nothing is pinched or scratchy. John searches Jax over and over, trying to find the source of the discomfort, but Jax remains agitated.

Finally, fed up, John heads to the kitchen. If he's going to be up at the ass crack of dawn, he's not doing it sober. He reaches into the fridge, pulling out a beer. He shifts Jax so that he can open the door to the deck, wandering out to enjoy the fresh air.

Jax suddenly falls silent so quickly John looks at him, panicked that he's dead. Instead, a look of peace and contentment spreads over Jax's face, as the little boy looks up at the stars that are fast blinking out of existence. John looks at him, astonished.

"Oh, is that what you wanted then?" He realizes, gently swaying with him, taking a swig of his beer. "That's all you wanted? Fussy cause you wanted to go outside? Ok, fine. We'll hang out here. That's fine by me." John collapses into a chair, settling Jax on his chest.

Jax stays quiet, but he's wide awake, watching as the sun begins to rise, slowly but surely, and John finishes off his beer and drops back into sleep, snoring lightly. When he finally startles away, realizing that Jax's weight is off his chest, Gemma is in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, Jax in his high chair.

"Morning." She calls when John stumbles inside. "He up early again?"

"4 am this time." John yawns, rubbing his eyes. "Why the hell does he always want to be up before the sun?"

(-)

"What the fuck?" Opie grumbles, throwing his arm over his eyes, squinting as the shape that is Jax moves around his bedroom.

"My bad, didn't mean to wake you up." Jax whispers.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Opie questions, disgruntled.

"Out." Jax says casually.

"Yeah, I gathered that, but where the fuck to?" Opie presses, not wanting to deal with the wrath of Gemma if he loses Jax.

"I don't know." Jax yanks on jeans. "Just wanna get up and go, you know?"

"I really don't." Opie buries his face in his pillow again. "I'm staying in bed."

"Ok." Jax pats his head and Opie swats at him without looking. Chuckling, Jax heads out of the house.

He hadn't been lying to his best friend, he doesn't have destination in mind honestly. But there's something about the moments before the sun is truly up that call to Jax, pulling him in. He finds clarity and peace in these moments.

He heads to a big hill outside Charming, riding his bike and enjoying how the air is still cold enough to chill him as he goes. It stings his cheeks a little, makes him pedal faster.

He tosses his bike aside once he gets to the hill and clambers up it, facing the east. He sits in quiet and solitude, mind whirling with a thousand different thoughts. He can hardly hang onto one before it's gone.

What's the meaning of life?

I'm fucking starving.

I need new shoes.

Jenny Matthews is getting hot.

Are we ever truly alone?

Is this voice inside me still really me?

It's going to be hot today.

Op and I should go to the beach.

School starts in three weeks, damnit.

Where do we go after we die?

I hope I see Tommy there.

When the sun finally rises over the horizon, turning the sky pink and orange, a specular display, Jax stands and brushes off his jeans. His favorite time of the day over, his thoughts turn to a breakfast burrito and more sleep. He meanders back into town on his bike, throwing it aside in the lawn and letting himself back into the house. He takes that last burrito, thinking of how pissed Opie is going to be, then snorts and eats it anyways.

(-)

"Jax… Jax… Jax…" Tara is moaning his name as Jax eats her out, trying to hold down her bucking hips. "Fuck, Jax, fuck, oh my god I—"

He wakes up with an almost painful hard-on, gasping. This one had felt real, so vivid. He'd felt her, heard her, tasted her. She'd been right there, with him…

With a grunt, he reclines back into bed, trying to calm his racing heart. He knows he's got a moment of peace before the pain sets in. Tara, gone, never coming back. He repeats it like a mantra, over and over in his head, trying to beat it into him. She's not returning. She will never be here again. He is alone.

It's early, far earlier than anyone else would be ok being awake. Jax doesn't mind. He gets up, pulling on pants and a shirt, grabbing the kutte from the chair he'd tossed it on, slipping out of the dorm room. The clubhouse is still covering with empty bottles and hookers from the night before and Jax silently navigates his way through them all.

He steps out into the cool air and takes a deep breath, turning his face up to the sky. Stars still wink in existence, but he hardly takes notice of them. He hardly notices anything anymore, not when the pain in his chest and his head threatens to overwhelm him.

He gets on his bike and rides. He's got to get out of Charming, where her ghost will haunt his every move. He heads to Lodi, not for any particular reason but mostly because he'd rarely gone there with her. The sun isn't high enough to warm him yet, but it's getting there.

When he pushes past 90 mph, he stops feeling like he wants to scream himself hoarse. The iron vice on his heart loosens, ever so slightly, and gives him just a little bit of clarity. He shakes the last bits of his from his mind, the way her eyes would sparkle, how she'd bite her lip when she'd study and was so adorably unaware of how sexy it'd make her look, the smell of her shampoo, all of it.

He's not ok. He knows he's far from it. But he's hanging on, clinging to his sanity and the rest of it. He just wants to forget it, forget everything. Forget her. And this few minutes, where the sun isn't up and neither is the world, affords him that.

Soon, the sun will come up, the clubhouse will rouse itself and the recycling will be taken out, hookers dusted off and sent of their way, a day of work and deals to be made. He'll get busy and she'll be off his mind.

But right now, the world is still, save for the man on the motorcycle with a broken heart.

* * *

 _Chuckie's scooter_

"Hello sir, what can I do for you?" The salesman is striving not to look at his hands, but Chuckie doesn't mind. He's well accustomed to that by now. Besides, he's on a mission.

"I need a bike." He declares purposefully. The salesman raises an eyebrow. "Well, not so much a bike." Chuckie relents, thinking of the time he'd had to hold up Jucie's bike so he could tinker with something and how heavy it'd been.

"Perhaps a scooter?" The salesman leads him around the corner and down a hall, into a showroom with a couple scooters up against the back wall. "They're lighter and a little easier to manage. Good for someone of your… Capabilities."

"They got much power?" Chuckie's not bluffing, not really, because he's learned a lot working in the shop and around the clubhouse. He inspects the scooter as the salesman drones on about horsepower and transmission and stroke. Chuckie looks them over critically, nodding and asking questions.

"I really think you'd love this one." The salesman says helpfully, when Chuckie falls silent to ponder his choice.

"It's a good value." He checks the price tag. "I'll take it."

"Wonderful!" The salesman goes to shake his hand, then seems to think better of it and draws back awkwardly. "I'll just go draw up the sales papers then." He hurries away and Chuckie stays, looking at the scooter.

It's not a Harley by any means. But that's ok. It's not like he has a kutte on his back anyways. Those bikes are too big, too loud, too heavy, too much. But this, this is perfect. It marks him as one of them, even if it a step removed. Chuckie can't wait to see what they say when he rides in on his scooter.

Chibs howls with laughter until tears stream down his face and it's a pleasant change from all the harsh worry that's carving lines into his face. Tig insists on taking a spin on it, kicking his legs out like a kid again. Gemma says nothing, but he sees a genuine smile cross her face and she says something about belonging. Jax, smoking, compares it to one he had as a kid, laughing when Gemma reminds him that he crashed it.

Chuckie looks at them, his family, the people that he's taken in as his own and who've done the same to him, and feels for once in his life that he is at peace. He's got a family, a purpose. And the line of bikes, with the little scooter at the end, means the world to him.

* * *

 _"My kids!" Teller boys 2.0_

"Ok, what should we do today?" Gemma asks, clapping her hands and looking at the sweet faces in front of her. Thomas has peas smeared over his mouth and cheeks, as he pounds his hand on his tray. Abel is watching him with a look of distaste that makes Gemma feel like laughing.

"Tommy's dirty." Abel comments finally and Gemma chuckles.

"He is." She admits, reaching into the high chair and plucking him from it. "Should we get cleaned up before we decide what to do today?"

"Yeah." Abel scrambles down, following her to the sink. Gemma wets a towel and wipes Thomas clean, despite his protests. Abel watches quietly.

"So what are we going to do today?" She asks him, once she's got the errant peas that have smeared under Thomas's chin.

"Park!" Abel shouts, jumping up and down. "Park, park, park!"

"Ok, ok." Gemma laughs, offering him her hand. "We can go to the park. But I have to get groceries afterwards, so if we go to the park, then you have to be a good boy when we're in the store."

"Ok." Abel agrees easily and runs for his room. Gemma follows, shaking her head, smiling.

That's his uncle Thomas, all the way. Energy, endless supply of it, and eager to spend it in the outdoors. Thomas had loved going to parks as a child too. If Gemma catches Abel out of the corner of her eye, she let's herself imagine it's her Thomas again.

But he's Abel, and he picks out his outfit, impatient when she puts on his velcro shoes, kicking his feet until she orders him to stop. Then he gets in the car, insisting he can buckle himself into his carseat. She keeps an eye on him to make sure he's doing it correctly while she secures Thomas.

That's his father though, total Jax. Her eldest had been independent from the moment he was born. He hadn't wanted her or anyone else's help. He could feed himself, dress himself, walk himself to school. It had terrified and delighted her in equal measures, that he was smart enough to do it all without her help.

When they get to the park, Abel runs through the playground, whooping in delight. She takes Thomas to the sandbox to play, keeping half her attention on him so he doesn't eat any sand and the other half on Abel, waiting for the eminent injury. His rambunctious nature comes from her brother, she thinks with a smile.

"Ok, we have to go to the store now." She announces, once she sees Abel dragging his feet.

"No." He protests tiredly. "Don't wanna go."

"Oh, I know." She promises, kissing his head. "But if you're really good, maybe I'll get you a little treat?"

"A sucker?" Abel perks up hopefully.

"Sure." Gemma leads him back to the car. "But you have to be good."

"I will, I promise!"

As they wander slowly around the store, Abel distracted by some handheld toy Tara'd gotten him, Gemma is distracted by Thomas. He's sitting in the cart, calm and content, looking around with big eyes, taking it all in.

Reminds her of Jax that way. He'd been a serious baby too, hardly fussed, observant. People had always commented on it, telling her that she'd gotten lucky to the first time around, karma would come back and bite her in the ass, the next baby would be fussy.

"What an adorable baby!" An old lady totters over, smiling and cooing at Thomas. For a second, he eyes her skeptically, then suddenly bursts into a gummy smile, reaching for her with a gurgle of laughter. "How handsome, and what a charming!" The lady proclaims.

"Yeah, gets that from his uncle." Gemma smiles, thinking about all the time a boyish grin had gotten Thomas out of trouble. More times with her than she cares to admit. "Real charmer."

"Gonna be a heart breaker." The lady tweaks Thomas's nose and ambles on. Gemma looks down at the two blond boys in her cart and suddenly feels 25 years younger.

"Both of you are." She says approvingly, heading towards the meat counter. "My boys."

* * *

 _Rat's thoughts during Tig's honesty_

Just fucking christ, who is this guy? What the fuck is wrong with him? I can't be his fucking kid. This is fucking nuts. All of this. But fuck, I have to give him shit about being his kid.

Oh, shit, is he serious? Did his dad really rape him? That's so fucked up, but yeah, it explains a lot of shit. What the fuck? He rapes me, I'll kick his ass. I ain't gay for shit, not even this fucking club.

What the fuck did I get myself into? What the fuck are we even doing? Jesus I need to get laid. That'd be fucking nice right about now. Fuck, don't think about that shit right now. Focus, focus. Be Tig's kid. Get in the mindset, you're a white supremacist. Just don't say shit. They can't shoot you if you don't say shit.

Why do all Nazis look like their mom is also their aunt? Fuck, this is so messed up.

Fuck, whiteman? How the fuck has this guy survived so long? Was he smart once? Why the fuck did he use my real name? I'm so fucked.

Yeah, Stockton. That's a good lie. I can keep that one up. That one's good. It's good. I'm fine. Dad's proud of me, right.

Wait, is he being serious again? That can't be true. No one could do that to some chick, no matter if her dad's a fucking sociopath. He's got to be kidding. But… Is he? He had to watch? He had to hear her die?

Fuck, no wonder he's so messed up. That's gotta ruin a guy. And he likes kids, or at least Jax's kids. What the fuck is wrong with some people, how can he even get out of bed and not blow his brains out? Shit. I better stop him before he remembers too much or we're going to be picking up Nazi bits for the rest of the day.

Ok, see, you got this. You're a good actor, just stay calm, play your part, and…

Jesus fucking Christ!

* * *

 _Otto's death_

Dear boys,

Today, we lost another one of our own. You'll never know his name. You've knew seen his face. You haven't heard his voice, pulled on his hands to play, fell asleep on his lap. You never met Otto Delaney. But he died for you.

I grew up with him. He was a surrogate father to me, like many of the men from the club. I remember him growing up, tall and covered in tattoos like so many of the club members. I was never scared of him or any of the rest, something I see already in the two of you…

I question myself frequently, when I look up and see you in the arms of men that murder and torture others. But then again, I am your father and I am not a good man. Can I condemn them for the sins that so closely mirror my own?

Time affords us clarity, my sons. What felt like rage as a young man is really grief. I am no stranger to death and I fear you two won't be either. If I can give you both one gift, it would be that you'd never know the pain and numbness of watching the people you love slip away, never to return.

But know this. Otto was a good man. I possess fond memories of him. He gave me my first beer. He was there when I patched in. I have pictures with him at my birthday parties. He loved his wife, Luann, and I'll never forget the tenderness with which he carried her to bed one night after a party.

That's the duality of nature I hope to explain to you boys. I hope you know that no man is simply good or bad. We are all heroes and villains, the only difference is who's story you are reading. Otto was a hero in mine. He was an uncle, a brother, a friend, a mentor, a good man. But in another story, he is a murderer of a beloved sister, a rat, a liar, and more.

You are my sons, and I hope more than you can ever know that you inherit nothing of my darkness. But if so, understand that good men die every day, and so evil men. Death is the last thing we face in life, and we all face it the same way- unprepared and a little scared. We leave behind grief and questions in our wake.

Otto died today. You don't know his name or face. But he was a good man. And I will miss him.

Your father,

Jax

 **AN:** Chuckie! Ratboy! Pre-series Jax! Out of my box today. Leave reviews on the way out? Thanks!


	71. Season 6- The Mad King

_Lockdown from girls_

 **Gemma**

She's a little at loss. Lockdown isn't an unfamiliar state of being for Gemma. She's accustomed to it, has lived for weeks that way, knows the ins and the outs of it, the patterns of how it will happen, all of it. She's well accustomed to lockdown.

She's not use to being dethroned.

Sure, she's still the de facto queen. The girls still look to her for orders, how many pots of coffee to make, how many cases of beer to buy to keep them stocked for a few days, to decide who gets to clean up the mess the guys make in the bathroom. She's still the leader, but she's kingless.

There's no John and Clay to lead their little makeshift family. Instead it's Jax. It's everything she's dreamed of. Except she'd had no idea what it would cost her, all those years ago. Her son finally has claimed his birthright, and it's left Gemma with nothing.

She can play it off. It's easy to, with so much going on. She busies herself with the making of food, the delegating of tasks, the deciding of sleep arrangements, all of it. She can busy her hands and her mind, and for awhile, she'll forget.

But in the moments of stillness, when things calm down, when there is time to breathe, that's when it hits her all over again. This isn't hers, not anymore. She's their mother and an outsider, all at once. Because for everything that she does, Tara does two more.

The new queen. Gemma's head is no longer heavy with the crown, and without it she feels naked.

 **Tara**

Tara hates this. She hates it, especially now, especially in this moment. She doesn't want to be the queen. She doesn't want the damn crown, and she hates every second she has to wear it.

The queen. Jax's queen, carrying his sons, allegedly pregnant with the next heir to the Teller throne. She should feel a sense of triumph. Gemma's reign is over, and it's clear with every girl that quietly asks for tasks, who defer to her every wish and whim, and the men that respect her.

She doesn't want to be there. She hates it in a way she hasn't hated it in ages. The only feeling is disgust. She's better than this. Her boys are better than this. She wants out. She wants them out. She doesn't want to be here and she hates every second that she is.

Is this who she is now? The queen of a biker club, who can perform surgeries and save lives, who spent years training and studying and trying to forget the past that made her who she is, but now it all blurs together in a mess of emotions, good and bad.

She wants to distance herself from all this but she can't. She can't, not when she has to wear her wedding ring like a beacon, alerting everyone around them that she is Jax Teller's old lady, his wife, the mother of his children, that she's the one to look to in this crisis.

Most of all, she hates that she's good at it. She hates that Gemma's training has sunk into her brain and she retains most of it. She can move by habit, she knows how to handle fights and petty disagreements. She good at being the queen, and she hates that fact.

 **Lyla**

Does she even belong here? That's the question that chases around her mind, as she smiles and grabs blankets, settles arguments between kids, replaces toilet paper rolls, ladles up bowls of chili, and pours shots, keeping one for herself.

The voice in her head whispers that no, she doesn't. Who is she to be here, a used up porn star whore, a former junkie, a crow eater? No one wants her here. They snicker behind her back, making snide comments about the audacity of the wife of a dead member, thinking she's important enough to be protected. She's not. She's nothing.

But there's another voice, the stronger, louder voice that reminds her exactly who she is. Lyla Winston. Winston, wife of Opie, even if at the end, it didn't feel that way. Daughter to Piney. Friend to Tara, to Jax, even to Gemma some days. An old lady, even if she's widowed. She belongs. She belongs with them.

She keeps herself busy, doesn't want to make it seem like she's taking any charity. She makes sure the kids are clean, polite, respectful. She wants the club to see that she's doing a good job with them, raising them right, raising them like Opie would've wanted. Like Donna would've wanted.

It's familiar, in a way that scares her a little. It's easy to be with the club, always having a pair of hands beside her, folding laundry, cleaning up empty beer bottles, ordering Piper back into the bathroom to brush his teeth- no, really brush, all the way to the back!

It's not easy, being here, watching the way Jax touches his forehead to Tara's, seeing how Tig grabs for a girl, slapping her ass. There's no one here that she wants to touch her. No, she knows who she wants. But he'll never be here to protect her, and that hurts the worst.

But she keeps a smile on her face. She has to. She can't let anyone know that she's struggling, that her heart breaks just a little when she catches a glance of that mugshot on the wall, a ghost she'll never get over.

She keeps reminding herself that she belongs there. If she doesn't, her children do. She's SAMCRO, even though the man that made her so is gone.

* * *

 _Tara lying about her pregnancy_

It's surprisingly easy to pull off the whole morning sickness, puking her guts out, queasy, uneasy pregnancy thing. That's how she feels most days anyways. The stress of trying to juggle all the balls she has in the air, with the boys, work, Jax, Gemma, Wendy, just keeping everyone alive on a daily basis.

The guilt is the worst, especially when she sees the light in Jax's eyes when he sees her, gaze flitting down to her belly. He touches her more often, large palm resting on her stomach, whispering things to her firmly flat belly.

It nearly breaks her when she hears the things Jax says. How he's going to be around for this pregnancy, this time. How he'll be in the delivery room, this time. How they're going to set up the nursery together, he'll go to birthing classes because this is the first baby he's ever been around for the birth, how he's so excited to finally have a chance to be a dad, right from the very start.

It's a lie. It's all a lie. It has to be, Tara reminds herself firmly. If she was actually pregnant, she wouldn't have the guts to really do this. It's a lie. There isn't actually a baby in her womb, nothing is going to happen to it. She's going to get the boys free and clear of Charming.

But at the cost of the happiness in Jax's eyes, something that she hasn't seen in ages. He's happy about this baby, he's delighted by it, and even on his worst days, he'll see her and grin, making some comment about a new crib or swaddling techniques.

It's enough to make her want to throw caution to the wind and actually try for a baby. Then she remembers the cesspool they're currently in and her resolve strengthens. She'll do this, she'll do it for the two lives around in the world, her sons. But when she looks in the mirror, at her flat stomach that will remain so, she wonders who she even is anymore.

* * *

 _Tara's doctor voice- "Sit!"_

"My patients are idiots." Tara mutters, rubbing her forehead, clinging to her coffee like it's her last lifeline.

"Yeah, why's that?" Ashley, a blonde doctor with her hair piled on her head and bags under her eyes is downing her third espresso.

"They don't listen to me." Tara complains. She likes Ashley, a smart resident Tara's age, from the south side. "Yours always listen to you. How do you get them to sit down, stop poking their stitches, stop trying to get the nurses to give them more pain meds, all that shit? None of them listen to me."

"That's because you're nice." Ashley laughs, patting her arm. "I get it Knowles. You want to be their friend before you're their doctor. You need to develop your doctor voice."

"I thought we were suppose to build a relationship. Make sure they trust us, that makes it easier for us to discuss treatment." Tara blinks and Ashley waves a hand.

"Sure, sure." She agrees. "That's all good and well. But all that fluffy shit doesn't mean anything if they don't listen to you. They can trust you all they want, but if they don't respect you, they're never going to listen."

"Well how do I get them to respect me?" Tara questions, glancing at herself in the reflection of the glass housing muffins and scones. "I look like I'm 20. I'm usually treating patients double, triple my age."

"Do what I do." Ashley shrugs and swirls the last dregs of her coffee. "Don't fold your arms over your chest, put them on your hips. That says 'power', not 'I'm using your chart as a security blanket'. Shoulders back. Make yourself bigger, especially if you've got some old guy that thinks you're just a candy striper. And for the love of god, stop saying please and pardon so much. Don't be polite. You're trying to save their lives."

"How do I do that?" Tara groans, putting her head down. "I spent how many years at college and med school trying to be polite and respectable and nice?"

"That's the thing though, you're not in school anymore." Ashley tosses her cup and gestures for Tara to stand. "You're in the real world. You're in Chicago. You have to stop letting people trample you."

"I don't let people trample me." Tara protests, as they start the walk back to the hospital.

"You kind of do." Ashley remarks. "You're so caught up in coming off as nice, you'd rather people talk over you than speak up. Why don't you show off a little bit of that bad ass bitch I saw at the bar the other night?"

"I don't…" Tara trails off, thinking about the past weekend, when a guy had tried to talk her into coming home with him, then turned nasty when she'd refused. She had promptly proceeded to tear him apart, ending with her tossing a drink on him and walking out. "I don't like showing off that side of me."

"Look, I get it." Ashley bumps her with her shoulder. "You think I want to march around proclaiming I'm south side? That I grew up rough and ready, gun under my pillow, neighbors with smack dealers and gang bangers? No. You want to rise above. Whatever you have in your past Knowles, and I know you won't tell me, so I won't even ask, don't be scared of it. It makes you who you are. You don't have to force it down. Use the best parts of it."

"Best parts of it?" Tara echoes, thinking about the club, Jax, the guns, the violence.

"Yeah." Ashley says simply. "It made you who you are, which is a tough bitch. People should respect you for that." Then with a wave, she disappears into the hospital. Tara ponders her comments as she heads to the ICU, going to check on her patients.

"Hey." She says sharply when Greg tries to fiddle with his IV. "You can't pull that out."

"It itches." He complains, but takes his hand off it.

"Then tell a nurse." Tara softens a little. "They can redo it, but not you."

"Ok." He says a little sheepishly, relaxing back into the pillows. A little surprised that it worked, Tara gestures to a nurse. As he refits Greg's IV, Tara stands back and observes the ward. Turns out, her doctor voice is the same as her telling Jax and Opie it's time to go home voice. Another bit of Charming Tara bleeding into Doctor Tara.

* * *

 _Gemma manipulating Wendy_

Wendy is easier to control. Gemma had learned from her mistakes the first time around with Tara. She'd kept an eagle eye out for the girls that passed through the clubhouse, especially those in Jax's bed. She wasn't about to risk having another Tara trying to rip Jax away from her.

Wendy was the ideal candidate. An outsider, one who didn't know the history of Tara hanging over Jax, who didn't know the battle that had happened for heart and future. Gemma knew from the second Wendy wandered in, looking a little lost and a little drunk, that this girl would be perfect.

She set it up practically from the second Wendy sat down around a fire, beer in hand. This time around, she was kind. Sweet. Funny. Caring. Asked about her story, where she came from, why she stayed. Wanted to make sure there wasn't anything in her past that could hurt Jax's future.

Jax was pretty easy too. He was never any good at being on his own. Needed her, Tommy, Opie, Tara, anyone to be by his side. He wasn't designed to be alone. Gemma used that to her advantage. It was easy to put Wendy in front of him, draw his eye to her.

Of course Wendy was given special treatment. Bring her in, under her wing. Other girls saw it, saw the training that was happening. How to be a good old lady, how to be a good queen, how to be a good wife, how to be a good daughter. She was Gemma's pet project, and when she finally guilted, goaded, and bribed Jax into proposing, she felt victorious over the memory of one Tara Knowles.

Even when they were married, Wendy could be easily manipulated. Gemma could talk them into a fight and talk them back out of it before they even realized what was happening. It was amusing, if not a little boring after awhile. Wendy behaved, reacted, listened just like Gemma expected her to. The only thing she'd ever done in defiance of Gemma was the drugs.

Of course, that was when Gemma lost interest. Jax deserved better than a junkie whore. She tossed Wendy aside, deciding it was time to find a new bride and a new daughter. Wendy wasn't a challenge anyway. Then came Abel.

Getting rid of her was as easy as manipulating her had been. Her coming back, trying to take her son back, never crossed Gemma's mind, because she never would've had the balls. Tara, now she would try. Fight tooth and nail, spit in Gemma's face.

But now she's learned not to underestimate Wendy. She is a mother after all. A shit one, but a mother. So Gemma goes to see her, puts on her nicest, worried grandma mask, and brings baby pictures. Talk about the past. Remind Wendy that she's the favorite. Pull her back into the good graces of the disgraced queen. Pit her against Tara, true love Tara, good mother Tara, everything Wendy can't be.

Wendy's weaknesses are canyons, not cracks, and Gemma knows how to place dynamite in the center and detonate.

* * *

 _Jax telling Gemma to visit Clay_

"Hey mom." Jax kisses her cheek and sits down beside her.

"Hey baby." Gemma is distracted, flipping through papers, picking one up and squinting at it. "How are things?"

"Fine." Jax watches her warily, wondering how this is going to go over. Chibs is standing behind him with his arms folded, looking pained to even be in the vicinity of Gemma. "Got some news from Clay."

"Oh?" Gemma's hands still just for a second, before she goes back to looking for something. "And?"

"We need you to go visit him." Jax informs her, cringing and Gemma's head snaps up, eyes flashing.

"What for?" She asks flatly, and Jax reaches out to put his hands over hers tenderly.

"He needs to talk to us. Privately." He's beating around the bush and he knows it, but it's impossible not to want to postpone a slap for as long as possible.

"Tell him to learn code or some shit." Gemma goes back to looking for a paper with a vengeance. "That prison's as wired as a rookie cop going into a drug deal."

"Not a conjugal." Jax reminds her and she drops all her papers, pushing away from the desk instantly.

"No." She says forcefully. "No, Jax, no!"

"Calm down." He says soothingly, as Chibs takes a step forward. "Nothing's going to happen, it's just a way for him to pass us information, privately. I'll give you $500 to take to him, you hear what he has to say, mess up your hair a little, and walk out."

"Jackson, I can't, I can't, he, I…" Gemma is pacing, hands on either side of her face, eyes wild, and Jax sits back, watching her. "I don't… I don't want to see him. Not like that!"

"Mom." Jax leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I need you to do this. The club needs you to do this. Clay can help with the Irish. Help with this lockdown shit. It's gonna protect your family." She looks up at that, so he continues pressing the angle he knows will work best on her. "Your son needs you. Your grandsons need you."

"Ok." Gemma nods, like she's steeling herself to run a marathon or plunge into icy waters, rubbing her hands on her thighs. "Ok, ok, you're right. When do I go?"

Jax flinches and glances back at Chibs, who nods encouragement. "Right now." He admits to Gemma, who instantly goes pale.

"Now, now?" She demands. "This very instant?"

"I need you to get in the car and go." Jax admits, standing and taking her shoulders. Gemma's eyes dart around the office, like she's a caged animal looking for a way out. "We don't have much time. Whatever he's got to tell us could be time sensitive. The sooner we know, the better. Can you do this?"

"I don't want to." She whispers, eyes far away.

"I know." Jax pats her cheek. "But you're going to." Her eyes snap back to his face and for a second he thinks he's going to get the furious mother he's known for so many years. Then she blinks and the fight goes out of her.

"Well, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?" She tries to joke, avoiding Chibs's eyes. "No one ever expects anything from an old lady, right?"

"They'd be an idiot not to." Jax comments, thinking about how vicious his mother and Tara can be. "Call if you need anything. I can send a prospect with you?"

"No." Gemma waves a hand, moving jerkily about the office, gathering things up. "I can… I can handle this by myself. I can do it. You keep your boys with you, save them for the others. I'll… Do it alone."

"Ok." Jax pulls her in to kiss her head. "Let me know if there's anything else you need, ok? Call me when you're on the way back, let me know if it's critical?"

"Of course." Gemma clings to him for a long moment, head buried in his kutte. Then she rouses herself, grabs her purse, and heads out of the office. The club watches her go. Jax walks back to them, fishing a cigarette out.

"Well you still have all your fingers, she took it well then." Juice comments and Jax snorts, lighting his smoke.

"Yeah, like a virgin in the ass the first time. C'mon, we got shit to do."

 **AN:** Sorry for the delay in posting, I'm currently traveling overseas and clinging to wifi wherever I may find it! Leave reviews?


	72. Season 6- Salvage

_Symbolism of the clubhouse- home_

It's gone. It's just gone. Wood and stone and walls and floors, that's all it was, but now that it's gone, it suddenly feels like more has been ripped from them. It's like a physical wound, the ache of it. Forgetting that it's there, distracted by other more pressing matters, before it comes crashing back, another wave of pain.

That clubhouse was a home, for all of them at some point or another. They'd all stayed in it's rooms, crashing on the couches, in the dorm rooms, often too drunk, high, or broken to go back to their own homes. It was the sanctuary. It was where Jax stayed to escape the ghost of Tara. It was where Tig stayed to keep him alive after Dawn. It was where Juice stayed when everything went to shit.

It's where Thomas and Abel sleep. It's where Chibs wrote the first letter he ever sent back to Fiona. It's where they've held birthday parties, anniversaries, Christmas's, family dinners, and more. It's home. It's filled with raggedy tee shirts, lone shoes, toothbrushes and never enough toilet paper, all of it. It's a home, and now it's gone.

The big things sting of course. The table. The bike. Every bottle behind the bar and in the fridge. The big things that are irreplaceable and massively sentimental. But there are small things lost too, and the sum of them adds up, until the pain in unbearable.

Thomas's favorite monkey footie pajamas. Original SAMCRO memorabilia from the beginning days. The couch, perfectly broken in. Every single mugshot that hung on the wall. Papers and posters and notes and letters, now ash from the fire.

It's a silly thing, the fact that the loss of walls and a roof makes them feel emotional and vulnerable. Their security blanket has been ripped away. Home is home, it's where they gather, let their guard down. Home is where you are safe, and to have the clubhouse reduced to rubble feels like they've been violated much in the same way.

Home is where the heart is, and the clubhouse has always been the heart of SAMCRO. Without it, they feel a little more disconnected, a little more lost, a little more aimless. They just want to go home, and home is no more.

* * *

 _Abel recalling stuff in the future_

"You know, I remember some shit." Abel says quietly, fingertips trailing over the top of the roughhewn bar.

"What shit?" Willow asks, cleaning a glass. Tig and Chibs both glance at him, surprised.

"About the club." He clarifies. "From when I was little, I have these memories that I could never explain. When I told mom about them, she'd say I was making stuff up, that I had an overactive imagination."

"What do you remember?" Tig asks, tapping two fingers on the bar. Willow fills the freshly cleaned glass with Jim Beam, passing it to him, eyes still on Abel.

"The explosion." Abel looks around the clubhouse. "Mom said that I made that up, that I got it from a movie or some shit. But it happened, didn't it?"

"Aye, it did." Chibs says heavily. "Nearly killed you."

"What?" Willow demands.

"You knew the clubhouse blew up. Remember when we rebuilt it?" Tig asks her, brow furrowed.

"Yeah, of course, it was like 50% of my childhood." Willow waves a dismissive hand. "I didn't know he was here for that though."

"You all were." Tig takes a drink. "You, Ken, Ellie, Pipes, Abel, Thomas, a whole pack of other kids. We're fucking lucky no one died."

"Still not sure how Jackie got him out in time." Chibs shakes his head and Willow is stunned into silence, but Abel is watching the two older men, curious. "Thought we were gonna lose you both."

"Ok, ok, back up." Willow waves her hands, shaking her head. "What happened?"

"Irish happened." Tig shakes his head. "Tried to blow the whole place up. Nearly succeeded."

"What else do you remember?" Chibs asks Abel curiously.

"Lots of stuff." Abel shrugs and takes the beer Willow absentmindedly passes him. "I remember my grandma, sort of. I remember my dad the best, probably. Tara a little. I remember there use to be a playground here that I played on."

"Yeah, Phil built that for you." Tig manages a small smile. "Loved you boys."

"I remember there were a lot of guns." Abel says wryly and Willow tosses back a shot, shaking her head. "And I remember funerals."

"You went to a lot for a young boy." Chibs admits heavily.

"Yeah, it kinda made me a fucked up kid for a bit." Abel admits, taking another drink of his beer. "Didn't really know what to make of it."

"Don't think anyone did." Tig shakes his head. "We're all a little fucked up here."

"I'll drink to that." Abel raises his beer and so do Tig and Chibs. After a moment of hesitation, Willow does the same and they all drink.

"Still, I can't believe you remember that shit." Willow shakes her.

"Wills, I nearly got blown up. I don't think that's easy to forget."

* * *

 _Gemma versus new police_

"Oh, you're fucked." Russell looks up in alarm. His partner, the seasoned officer Torres, glances at him and grins. She's got 20 years on him, but she's a good cop. Except she lets the rookie cops learn by experience, something Russell isn't sure if he appreciates or loathes.

"Why?" He asks nervously, glancing down at the paperwork on his desk. "Am I filling this out wrong?"

"No, not that." Torres makes a face and smacks his shoulder. "That." She points to the woman that's striding into the bullpen. She's tall, with dark hair, heavy dark eye makeup, a corset top that showcases a tattoo on her chest and a massive scar, with leather jeans, thigh high boots, and a purse she's swinging like a weapon.

"Who the fuck is that?" He questions and every cop, detective, and officer is sitting back, arms folded, grinning at him.

"That's Gemma Teller-Morrow." Torres informs him quietly, as Gemma nears them. "Her husband's down in holding. So's her kid. You're gonna go tell her that we're holding them."

"Why me?" Russell tries to play it off, but there's a note of fear in his voice. Gemma does not look like someone to be fucked with.

"Because you're the rookie." Torres shoos him out of his chair and towards Gemma.

"Hey." She barks, pointing to him. "You. Wanna tell me where Clay and Jax are?"

"Gemma," He tries to placate her. "They're in holding, for…" He trails off, glancing back at his fellow officers.

"Gun charges." Torres says helpfully.

"Gun charges." He echoes and Gemma rolls her eyes, making a scoffing noise in her throat.

"It's bullshit, you know it's fucking bullshit. Go out and do something productive." She orders loudly. "Protect and serve, all that shit."

"Gemma," He tries again to be polite but she looks at him, eyes narrowed and he takes a step back. He has sisters, he knows when he's about to get slapped. "They're fine."

"I want to talk to Unser." She declares loudly, trying to step past him and he flinches, trying to stop her without getting within range of her long nails.

"Gemma, you can talk to them when we've finished." He offers and she glares.

"Move aside Skippy, I'm going to see my husband and my son. WAYNE!" She bellows. "Get your ass out here!"

"Gemma, please." Carefully, he puts his hands on her shoulders. "Wait out here."

"Please," She brushes past him with ease. "I'm going to see Unser."

"Jesus." Russell swears, watching as she disappears through to the offices. He looks at Torres helplessly, who glances at the clock.

"Did he even hold her off for a full minute?" She questions and several people shake their heads. "That's low rookie, I expected you to make it to at least 3."

"So that was a test?" He demands.

"Sure it was." Torres goes back to her paperwork. "A rite of passage if you will. Everyone's gotta face down Gemma once in their career." She smiles faintly as the sound of yelling echoes down from Unser's office. "Makes armed gunmen not so scary."

"So what's the record then for holding her off?" He asks curiously, sitting back down to his desk.

"Five minutes." Torres informs him, as across the bullpen Jones pumps his fist victoriously. "Nearly lost an eye."

"Damn." Russell picks up his paperwork, attention still on the hallway Gemma'd disappeared down.

* * *

 _Goal orientated Tara_

Get the boys out. It's a simple goal with a complicated process, but the end goal is in it's essence, clear cut. Get Abel and Thomas out of Charming.

Tara thrives on having goals. She has, for as long as she can remember. If there was a goal, she could achieve it. When she was younger, it was school. Goal, get 100% on a spelling quiz. Tara would memorize and study and repeat and quiz herself until she was the spelling bee champ of third grade.

Same went for vocabulary words. Fractions. Elements on the periodic table. The goal was straight A's and Tara was going to get them, hell or high water. It was simple, until she got a little older and met Jax.

He made her goals skewer in funny directions and go haywire. He walked in with his lopsided smile, calling her darling, and she was never more unsure about what her goals were, except that she loved this boy and he loved her and the world was right when she was with him.

But then the goal was college. Leaving Charming, being better, escaping poverty and the club. And the second Tara get that into her head, there wasn't a chance in hell for Jax to sway her from her goal. Because that's how she is. Once she has a goal, there is a straight line from her to that goal.

Go to college. Graduate with honors. Go to med school. Prove herself. Become a doctor. Save lives. Never, ever let anyone know that poised Doctor Knowles has arrests under her belt, that she knows how to fight, that she grew up tough.

Now her goal is to protect her sons, no matter the cost. No matter what she will go through. They will be protected, she can promise them that much. She'd die for this goal.

* * *

 _"You know this one's a girl, right? Strong and beautiful like her mom."_

"Oh my god." Jax stares at the ultrasound, astonished. Tara can't help but feels tears well up. She never got this moment with Thomas and Jax, what with Jax already being in prison. Jax is seeing his baby for the first time. His baby…

"Do you want to know the gender?" The nurse asks, smiling at them and Jax looks at Tara with wide eyes.

"Did we want to wait?" He questions her. "I don't know if we wanted to wait or…"

"Do you want to know?" Tara asks, a little amused and after a second of hesitation, Jax nods quickly.

"We want to know." He declares and the nurse smiles, moving the wand over Tara's belly.

"Well, well, well," She grins. "Hope you're ready to get some new clothes and toys. It's a girl!"

"A girl?" Jax yelps. "A girl?"

"Yes." The nurse as Jax is speechless, staring at the screen before dipping to kiss Tara's belly, then staring at her in astonishment.

"A baby girl." He whispers, pressing their foreheads together. "A little girl, oh Tara, she's gonna be just like you."

"No, I hope she looks like you." Tara's holding back tears. "I always thought you'd make a pretty girl."

"Oh, a girl." Jax cradles her close. "A sweet little girl. I love you."

"I love you too." Tara whispers back, one tear slipping out.

(-)

"The boys weren't this small." Jax protests and Tara has to hold back a smile.

"Abel was premature and smaller than this." She reminds him calmly, making the bottle. "And you didn't get to see Thomas until he was weeks old."

"Yeah, but he was never this small. She's tiny." Jax looks at the baby in his arms helplessly and Tara holds back a chuckle.

"She's a baby." She finishes making the bottle and brings it to him, running her hands over his head before dipping to kiss Gracie.

"She's too little." Jax proclaims. "She's too tiny. We can't take her into the world, not now, not ever. She's staying here, where she's safe."

"You worry." Tara teases, but her heart swells at protective daddy Jax.

"Thomas and Abel are going to break her." Jax looks at her in alarm. "They're too rough, they'll break her!"

"No they won't." Tara says reassuringly, nudging him to remind him to feed Grace before she starts to wail. "They know to be gentle."

"What if they don't though?" His attention is completely devoted to Gracie, as she eats, blue eyes blinking shut sleepily and tiny fingers clutching Jax's pinkie. "Omg my god Tara, she's the most precious thing I've ever seen in the world."

"I know." Tara mummers, moving closer. "I love her. I didn't know I could love three tiny humans so much in my entire life."

"And I thought I loved you, would die for you." Jax jokes and Tara kisses him.

"Us and our babies, is there anything better?" She wonders.

(-)

"Let me get the gun." Jax begs. "Please."

"No." Tara says flatly, fiddling with the settings on her camera.

"Just the one."

"No guns Jackson."

"But how else am I going to scare him?"

"You're the very essence of scary." Tara assures him. "Very terrifying."

"Tara." Jax looks dangerously close to pouting, stomping his feet and throwing a tantrum. "Just the shotgun."

"No." Tara pokes him in the chest. "That will embarrass her."

"Good." Jax says firmly. "She needs to be embarrassed. And he needs to be terrified."

"I think Thomas and Abel have already threatened to kill him several times." Tara croons, grabbing Jax's face and kissing his nose. "Now stop worrying. It's prom, not marriage."

"Yeah, and ten minutes ago it was preschool and puppies and pink." Jax grumbles. "I'll blink again and suddenly it'll be college and marriage and babies."

"You're the most dramatic human on this planet." Tara informs him factually. "Now go make sure your sons are actually dressed nicely, we're using these pictures for the Christmas card."

"Boys!" Jax heads downstairs.

"Hey, did I mess up my hair?" Grace asks, walking into the living room and Tara wants to gasp. Her daughter is wearing pretty, sparkly heels with a long blue dress, floating down around her, showcasing her small waist and long legs. She looks beautiful, her dark hair pulled to the side in a messy, artful braid.

"You look stunning." Tara proclaims, pulling her into a hug, carefully not to catch the intricate beading that is the bodice of the dress.

"Thanks." Grace grins, brushing a loose curl back. "Where's dad and the boys?"

"Coming." Tara says, listening for the trampling up the stairs. The boys breeze past Grace with a couple insults, heading for the food, but Jax is stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Grace in astonishment.

"You look like your mother." He says finally, glancing at Tara. "You look beautiful Gracie."

"Thanks dad." Grace blushes, then the doorbell rings and they all look up.

"I'm going to get the gun." Jax declares and Tara rolls her eyes.

 **AN:** Back to regularly scheduled updates! Side note, I've been writing some one-shots of Abel/Willow to maybe publish at a later date, so if anyone sends over prompts, hint hint...


	73. Season 6- Sweet and Vaded

_JT's bike_

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Jax yells, jumping up and down on the front porch. Even from there he can see the smile on his father's face and he knows that he's happy to be home. He waits impatiently as his father guides the bike up the driveway and back where it belongs. Once the monstrous roar of the engine ends, Jax knows he can go running across the hot pavement.

"There's my boy!" John booms and Jax launches himself into his father's arms. He smells like home, cigar smoke, gas, and something else Jax can't name yet. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes!" Jax shouts and Gemma has made her way onto the porch, smiling, one hand on the large swell of her stomach.

"Did you?" John's voice is teasing, directed at her, and she grins.

"Yes." She winks and disappears back inside. John grabs the bags off his bike and Jax takes the smallest one, eager to help. They trudge inside, where Gemma has supper and a beer waiting.

John tells them all about his trip, up the coast, to see the beautiful shores and forests of Washington. He produces a hand-carved wooden bird for Gemma, and a brightly painted fire truck for Jax as gifts. He grins when Gemma accuses him of spoiling them.

"That was great." He says, kicking back and grinning at them. "You miss home cooked meals when you're on the road."

"You were gone three nights." Gemma reminds him, getting up to grab the dishes.

"And a long three nights they were." John says solemnly then turns to his son. "What do you say, Jackson? I have some errands to do around town. Want to ride with me?"

"Yes!" Jax cries, then automatically turns to Gemma, who just sighs.

"Helmet." She says pointedly. "Home before dark, and no stops on club shit, got it? He needs to get to bed at a decent hour tonight."

"Of course, mama." John kisses her cheek, then looks down at Jax. "What do you say Jackson? Want to ride?"

"Yeah!" Jax jumps up in the air, unable to contain his excitement and both John and Gemma chortle.

"Alright, let's go." He says fondly.

Jax hangs on tightly to his father's kutte, short legs dangling off the side of the bike. He's not scared of falling, because he knows his dad would never let that happen to him. He's enjoying the ride, because he loves when he gets to do this.

For as long as he can remember, in his admittedly short life, he's loved riding on the back of his father's bike. When he was little, it was the greatest sort of adventure, when the engine would roar and his dad would slowly ride up and down the street, Jax between his arms, marveling at how the world moves on the back of a bike.

They cruise down main street and people raise their hands in greeting at the sight of the familiar man on a familiar bike, with his child holding tightly to him. John stops at various businesses and while he chats, Jax plays with the fire truck that John's tucked in the pocket of his kutte.

The sun sinks down towards the horizon and when the street lights click on, Jax looks expectedly up at his father. He knows this drill. John leaves off his conversation with Unser to smile down at Jax, raising an eyebrow.

"That's our sign, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Jax says sadly, because he knows that it's almost time for bed.

"We can go for another ride tomorrow." John promises and that brightens Jax considerably. "Wayne."

"John. Jax." Unser waves as John helps Jax onto the bike.

"Bye!" Jax yells. He tries to soak in every last second on the bike, because he knows when he gets home, it's bath and bed time. John goes slow, taking the long way home, and Jax beams.

"You're late." Gemma announces, when they pull into the driveway.

"Are we?" John glances back at Jax. "I guess I got a little lost."

"Daddy says we can go for a ride tomorrow." Jax informs Gemma, who raises an eyebrow.

"Did he?"

"I'll take him off your hands for the day. I know you wanted time in the nursery." John tells him, as they all walk back inside.

"You're just offering because you don't want to assemble the crib."

Jax looks over the shoulder before he gets inside, at the bike in the driveway. It seems beautiful in the fading sunlight, shining and well loved. His final thought before he walks inside is that he can't wait until he has a bike all his own.

* * *

 _Tara and Wendy_

I can't stand her.

 **I can't stand her.**

Who does she think she is, some pathetic junkie whore? She gets by sucking dick for a gram.

 **Who does she think she is, some stuck up doctor bitch? She acts like she's above all this shit and she's not.**

Why the hell did Jax ever marry her?

 **Why the hell could Jax never get over her?**

She'll never get Abel back.

 **She'll never give Abel back.**

At least she sees how awful the club is.

 **At least she sees how horrible Charming is.**

I hate that I emphasis with her.

 **I hate that I respect her.**

She's the birth mother of my son, I can't deny her that.

 **She's the mother who raised my son, I can't deny her that.**

Even if I think she's a disgusting drug addict, we have to work together.

 **Even if I think she's an awful bitch, we have to work together.**

I'll do anything to protect my sons.

 **I'll do anything to get him back.**

* * *

 _Table in the future_

"Missing her, huh?" Piper sits down next to Abel with a beer, offering him one a beat later.

"Huh?" Abel glances at him, forehead wrinkled.

"Willow." Piper takes a drink. "You miss her. You're doing that thing with your eyes, you get all pouty and frown."

"Do not." Abel mutters, but takes a sip so he doesn't have to argue further. Piper just grins.

"She'll be home soon enough. What else is on your mind? You're brooding. We all know it." Piper waits in silence until Abel finally admits,

"It's the anniversary of my dad's death tomorrow. I never knew the date before, but now I do."

"Oh, shit." Piper is a little taken aback, but now that Abel's started talking, he can't stop.

"It's just a day, you know? But I passed it every year and didn't know anything, but this year, I asked Tig and he told me. Now I know, and I thought it'd give me space to grieve but… It doesn't. It just hurts worse."

"Ah, fuck, sorry for giving you hell about missing Willow." Piper looks mighty uncomfortable.

"Nah, I miss her too." Abel tries to joke. "Besides, she'd know exactly what to say."

"Call her." Piper advises, clapping his shoulder and standing. "She's good for that kind of shit. Her, or Ellie."

"Thanks." Abel raises his beer as Piper leaves, trying not to begrudge him. The closest thing Piper's ever had to a father was Opie, and Abel knows the pain of Opie's death doesn't sit as heavily on his shoulders as it does on Ellie, Ken, and Willow.

All the same, he knows Willow's in class and she needs to focus on her studies. Ellie, despite her incessant meddling in her baby sister's relationship, still seems a little unapproachable. And he doesn't feel in the mood to talk with anyone else, least they react like Piper.

He gets up and heads inside, looking for some solitude. He raises his glass to everyone at the bar, but carries on into the chapel. He carefully shuts the heavy door and the noise hushes, silence rushing in like he's entered a crypt. In a way, he has.

He runs his fingers lightly over the large table that dominates the space. Heavy, dark wood, filled with dents and scratches. To take his mind off of things, Abel runs his fingers over them, recalling their stories in his mind.

The ax from a sheriff. The dents from the coffins that have sat atop it, as Sons filed past to pay respects. The many, many scuffs from the pounding of rings that have been repeated for decades. The wood, darker in places, where an explosion forever altered it's look and the Sons as a whole.

He leans over the edge to trace the outlines of the skull, sunken in the center. The wood is cool and smooth beneath his fingertips, calming in. Everything about this is familiar, sets him at peace, that he knows he's finally home.

"Hey dad." He starts talking to the skull before he's even conscious that it's happening. "Missing you today, I guess. Feeling like a bad son lately, all those years I didn't know when you left… Maybe it hurts this bad because I'm trying to make up for it.

"I don't know where you are dad, but I feel you here, I really do. I feel you here, deeply. I wish you were here to see me dad, sitting around this table where you sat… I hope you'd be proud of me, I hope you know that I came home. Even if it wasn't what you wanted, if it's what you died for… I'm happy here dad."

He lapses into silence, staring at the table thoughtfully. After a few long minutes, he's startled back into life by the vibrating object in his pocket. He pulls his phone out, smiling when he sees the picture on the screen- Willow, in a leather jacket and biker boots, legs kicked up on his bike, grinning mischievously.

"Hi." Willow doesn't even give him a second to breathe. "I miss you!"

"Hey babe, I miss you too." He says, smiling as he walks out. Piper, sitting at the bar, flashes him the thumbs up and Abel responds in kind. As Willow chatters, taking his mind off of things, he glances back through the open chapel doors and towards the table.

That's where his dad is. Jax never left.

* * *

 _"Home is where the reaper is."_

"How do you have so much shit?" John moans, lugging another box into the house. "Where did you hide it all?"

"Most of it's new." Gemma rolls her eyes, standing in the kitchen, unpacking cutlery. "Only so much was salvageable from the last place, you know."

"I liked the last place." John bemoans. "It was perfectly fine."

"This place has a nursery." Gemma's hand briefly rests against the tiny protruding belly. "We were not raising a baby in a bachelor's pad. Where would it have slept, the futon?"

"Nonsense, that's where I would've put you." John kisses her before darting the spat she aims at him with the spatula.

"Bring in the couch before the coffee table!" She yells, as he disappears back out the front door.

"You managed to make him get a coffee table?" Clay staggers in, weighed down by a plastic tub that Gemma knows houses her shoes.

"Bedroom with that one." She orders, sliding large knives into their place. "And yes, people get coffee tables."

"Can't believe you're letting a woman run your life." Clay says in disbelief to John, who's got a rug slung over his shoulder.

"It's actually pretty nice. You should try it sometime." John informs him before Gemma claps her hands.

"Less talking, more moving. Where's Otto and the chairs?"

When it's all said and done, when the pizza has been devoured, the beer has been drunk, and the rest of the club has disappeared back to the clubhouse to carry on celebrating, Gemma and John sit in their disaster of a living room, arms around each other, content.

"Welcome home." John whispers in her ear and Gemma closes her eyes in satisfaction. Home. She has a home again, thank god.

"Wait." She gets up and digs through a box as John curiously watches. She emerges with a large print of the reaper. With a grin, she nails it to the wall by the door so everyone will see it upon entering.

"Perfect." John declares.

(-)

Opie stands in his new bedroom and feels like crying. But he won't. Stiff upper lip, big men don't cry, especially not bikers, and that's who Opie Winston is. Even if he doesn't feel like it here, miles away from Charming.

Sure, this bedroom is probably nicer than his old one. Bigger, that's for sure. And the closet door actually works, isn't half broken, teetering on it's hinges. The floor has carpet that he can feel, instead of worn wooden floors that sag in odd places. And the walls are painted a nice blue, instead of peeling wallpaper.

The whole place doesn't smell of smoke, at least not yet. His mother's going through a pack a day, so he's sure it will soon enough. The bed is big, with nice new sheets. Nothing childish, like firetrucks or monkeys, and for that he's grateful. His mom must be pulling out all the stops to make him like his new home.

But he doesn't. He hates it. He'd rather have the drooping door, sagging floor, peeling wallpaper. His too-small twin sized bed, with the threadbare sheets and pile of clothes at the foot. The dented and peeling furniture that house his ninja stars he trades with Jax, with his cards, the three books he's ever read in his life.

That's home. With his Rolling Stone posters on the walls. Jax's skateboard under his bed. The picture of them at the Grand Canyon as kids tacked to mirror. The reaper hanging above his bed.

He collapses onto his new bed, in the new room of his new house, and is achingly homesick.

(-)

"You're not sleeping in my bed tonight." Willow declares firmly and Abel looks at her, incredulously. "What? You're not, unless you change my sheets. I just got new ones!"

"Fine. We can sleep at my house tonight then." Abel rolls his eyes and Willow grins, busy on her phone.

"Sure you don't want a pull?" Piper offers the bottle but Abel shakes his head, closing his eyes.

"Nah, I want to be sober for this."

"Say that when we're 7 hours in." Knox, his tattoo artist, jokes, readying the needle. "You're in for a long night kid."

"Thanks Knoxy, now let's go." Abel orders and when Knox lowers the needle onto the 'S' on Abel's left shoulder blade, Willow snaps a picture.

"Ok, I'm gonna go grab lunch with Ellie." She declares, stowing her phone in her purse. "Do we need anything else?"

"Grab a couple hookers on the way back, we need entertainment." Ken jokes and Willow flashes him the middle finger before dropping a kiss on Abel's cheek, careful not to jostle Knox.

"Have fun, I love you."

"See you in a bit." Abel mutters, eyes closed, deeply focused. Willow wiggles her fingers and is gone.

The hours pass with Abel in a trance-like state, concentrating on breathing through the pain, as Knox completes the S, then an O, then an N, and so on across the broad planes of Abel's back.

Willow comes back with food and Abel takes a break to snack on crackers and have some water. Knox massages his wrist and makes jokes about carpal tunnel. Willow fusses over his back and Ken pokes it, hard, laughing when Abel aims a punch at him. When he lays back down for Knox to start on the reaper, Willow entertains him with stories of her upbringing in the club.

Near hour five he starts to waver and Knox sends him for a walk. Willow guides him around the clubhouse, wincing in sympathy when she sees how he flinches as his raw back stretches. Other club members, filtering in and on, comment on how badass it looks.

"Guess no rough sex for awhile, huh?" Willow helps him lay back down on the tattoo table.

"Gross, Willow, don't say that!" Ken yells while Abel grins.

"Alright, hit it Knox."

Willow is making them chocolate malts when Knox finally finishes the last 'A' and sits back, looking at his work with pride. Sons and crow eaters crowd the table to see. Abel's back is now covered with the words 'Sons Of Anarchy California' and the reaper in the middle, still oozing blood.

"It looks amazing." Someone comments and Abel flashes the thumbs up, unwilling to roll over and stand. Piper hands him a beer with a straw in it knowingly.

"And you wanted to sleep in my bed." Willow rolls her eyes, pouring her malt and grabbing her own straw. Chibs helps him up and guides him to the mirror, where he can twist and see it for himself.

He'd held off on the back tattoo for a couple years, wanting to make sure that this place was permanent, but then it hit him that Charming is home, and he has no plans to ever leave it again. So the reaper is part of him now, marking him to where he belongs, home in a clubhouse with brothers. He's home, and now he wears the reaper to prove it.

* * *

 _Jax listening to Alice_

Flashes, moments of a life that he knows isn't his yet, but is so close to becoming true, that terror, pure and simple, races through his veins.

 **"You go ahead. You tell that sweet boy all about his daddy. How much you love him, want the best for him."**

Tara is cradling Abel on her lap, smiling down at him, but it's all wrong. Abel is too big, his legs don't dangle but touch the floor, hair still as blond as ever, but shaggy, and falls in front on his bright blue eyes. He sits on Tara's lap and their focus is on a photo album in front of them. Jax walks behind them to see.

Photos of him. Dozens, spanning years. Jax catches a glimpse of him and Opie as kids, missing front teeth, grinning from their bikes, and his heart aches for the loss of his best friend. Tommy is even in there and Tara points him out for Abel.

"Why'd he go?" Abel asks, and the heartbreak in his voice makes Jax want to break down. "Why'd he leave us?"

"Oh, honey." Tara smoothes his hair back and Jax is startled to see the face of a young man, not the toddler he knows. "He loved you so much, he did what he thought was best for you. He loved you, you know that. You know he wanted to be here, more than anything, but he did what was best for you. He always wanted you to be happy."

"Ok." Abel says, tracing Jax's face in a photo of him and Tara at a party, and Jax tries to scream that he's here, his son, he's here, but nothing comes out.

 **"It won't matter, because when he finds out what you are, he's gonna grow up hating you. Hating your lies."**

It's Abel again, but now he looks like an angry teenager, wearing a tight black shirt, ripped along the bottom, with loose jeans and bare feet, standing at the counter of a kitchen, eyes blazing. Thomas sits beside him quietly, both of their gazes locked onto Tara, who stands at the sink, shoulders slumped.

"Are you going to tell us, or not?" Abel demands, voice harsh and cutting. Tara raises her eyes to his and Jax is alarmed to see tears glisten there. More alarming, it seems that Abel notices them and doesn't care.

"I don't want to talk about it." Tara whispers.

"Well, you're going to have to." Abel says archly. "Because I want to hear it from you, not anyone else. You. The one who knew him best."

"He was a good man." Tara's voice is pleading, but the boys, Abel especially, are unmoved.

"Our father was a murderer." Abel's words cut Jax to shreds. "He was a drug dealer, supplied guns to criminals and gangs, and he murdered people. Innocent people."

"Please." Tara whispers.

"And you married him! Had kids with him! Why?" Abel struggles.

"He was the love of my life." Tara tries to explain and Jax wishes he could wrap his arms around her. "And he loved you boys, he did."

"Yeah, and you said he was a good dad." Abel spits. "That's a lie, because he got himself killed before Tommy was even out of diapers. He was a criminal mom, a worthless piece of lowlife scum. Just say it."

"No." Tara whispers, dropping her eyes to the floor and Abel's lip curls up into a sneer.

"it was all lies. Fuck him, and fuck you, for those lies."

 **"Hating the life you forced him into. And hating himself. This boy's gonna blow his brains out before his balls completely drop."**

Abel, sitting on his bed, writing furiously in a notebook. Mixed emotions arise in Jax- pride, that his son seems to have inherited the Teller writer gene, just like the blue eyes and blond hair, but sadness as well, because he knows that pose all too well. A lost boy, mourning a father, turning to words to see if they'll provide him any clarity.

Abel stops writing and sighs, setting the notebook aside and flopping down on the bed, massaging his cramping hand. Jax shifts so he can read the words written in the scrawled handwriting of a teenaged boy.

 _Who am I? I am 50% my father, the criminal and murderer, and 50% my mother, the drug addict. Is there anything good in me? Is there anything in me that's even worth saving?_

 _If fate is to be believed, then my fate is holding two things. A gun and a needle. Which will take my life? Will I go out like my mother, a plunger full of chemicals, hoping to go blissfully in some gutter somewhere, or will I not even have that moment of peace before a bullet tears through me like my father?_

 _I am nothing. I am worthless. The world is better off without another piece of shit like me. I wake up in pain, and I can't ever see a way out. There's nothing. There's no hope for me. I am useless._

 _Mom, I love you. You tried your best. You tried to raise me as best you could. But let's face it. It's better to end things now, before I give into darker urges. Before I kill like my father, hurt you all like my mother. Thank you for raising me. Thank you for trying._

 _Tommy, I'm sorry. I really, really am. But you have to know, this is for the best. You won't have to deal with your dark big brother anymore. You're free to go, forget me. I'm sorry buddy, and I can't say it enough._

 _The world doesn't need people like me in it. It's ok, I'm going somewhere where there's no more pain._

Jax looks up in alarm, but it's too late. Abel has produced a gun from beneath the pillow and he sticks the barrel in his mother, reclining back slowly on his bed and Jax is screaming, but the bang of the gun drowns everything out.

 **"Not 'cause of me, or his dead mama... but because of you. The awful thing that turned out to be his father."**

The funeral is a gloomy day, and Jax is shaking, trying to wake up from this nightmare, but nothing seems to do the trick. He stands, immobile, as the casket is carried up the pavement of the cemetery. Thomas, stoic, is at the front, black tie slightly askew.

He looks for his mother, for Tig, Chibs, someone, anyone. No one is there. Despite the overwhelming black attire, not a single reaper shows through. Abel wouldn't have wanted that anyways. Nothing to remind him of the father he detested, who's blood and name he was so ashamed to carry.

When he spots Tara, the whole world falls apart. She is crumpled beside a gravestone, weeping so hard her whole body shakes. On the grey stone are the words,

'Abel Teller. Beloved son, a light to all.'

17 years old. That's how old his son was when he took his own life. Jax kneels beside the grave and traces the dates. He's speechless, every word he's ever spoken in his life absent from him in the face of this momentous tragedy. Tara looks up, and it seems she can finally see him. Her tears stop and suddenly she is widely furious.

"This is your fault! You taught him hate! You tainted him, ruined him! Your son is dead, and it's all your fault!"

Jax pulls the trigger and he doesn't know if the gun is still aimed at Alice or his own temple. He's not sure it matters.

 **AN:** Oh dang, so I kind of fell in love with this chapter. Let me know if you did too?


	74. Season 6- Los Fantasmas

_Jax wanting a big family_

Jax sits at a picnic table, looking out of the park. A group of young kids chase each other over the playground, shouting with glee as they go. Under the shade of some trees, adults are setting up what looks to be a lunch, women chatting and slicing hamburger buns as a couple men argue the best way to start the little grill.

It's a happy scene, a bright sunny spring day, the kind that promises to be warm but not overwhelming, with a light breeze and clouds chasing the sun across the sun. Despite all that, Jax sits and watches the family with anger.

It's not fair. It's not fair that these kids can play with their family members and Jax sits at a table all alone. The only child of only children, destitute of cousins and family. Tommy is gone. Opie is gone. He is utterly alone.

He's not good at being alone, he never has been. He's always had Opie by his side, and later, Tommy. Even in the club, he's always under someone's watchful eye. Gemma has made sure he's never wanted for anything, not clothes, food, or attention.

But he wants this. He wants what other kids have. He wants a mom, who scolds him for trying to steal chips and fusses over the jeans he's ripped at the knee jumping off the swings. He wants a dad who asks hotdog or hamburger, then burns both of them when he gets distracted throwing a baseball around with him. He wants a big brother who shoves him away when he tries to play, then chases after him a second later. He wants a little sister to follow him around, chattering, pigtails bobbing.

He wants aunts and uncles and cousins to play with. He wants a grandpa and grandma that make cookies for him and take him for lunch and coffee, telling him stories about the olden days. He wants big family events. He wants people that love him, unconditionally, and that will never leave him.

An angry young man sits at a picnic table and wants a family. It's not until he's 17 and head over heels in love with a girl with dark hair and serious eyes that he realizes that he wants a big family, and more.

He wants kids to play with. He wants to be the dad he never had, there for dinners and bedtime stories. He wants the unconditional love of a child, who adores and looks up to him. He wants a wife and a home. And he wants those things with Tara.

One day, he promises himself. A big family.

* * *

 _Tara taking up painting_

She takes a deep breath, looking down at sleeping Thomas. His breath is slow and deep, his chest and tubby belly raising and falling in a steady rhythm. There's no peace like watching your child sleep, she reflects with a smile. She peeks into Abel's room, where he too is asleep, hand tossed over his face like usual.

Nap time. A mother's saving grace. After the dishes are done, when the house is quiet, when there's nothing to do but clean up the toys and savor a moment of calm. Tara ignores the trucks and stuffed animals strewn across the floor, instead going to pick up the brush in front of the painting.

She eyes it critically. It isn't great, she knows this. It's just a sunset over a beach. She should add a couple palm trees or an umbrella, but right now all her attention is focused on the reflection of the sunset in the water.

She picks up the paints, squeezing several blobs of color out. She mixes the red with a little bit of white, frowning. It's still the color of a beating human heart, she needs it a couple shades lighter. She grabs more white, mixing it in until she's satisfied.

She paints the sunset, a chaotic blend of oranges, reds, yellows, and pinks. She would watch the sunset in college. That's when she started painting, when she needed ten minutes away from the books and the pressure of constant memorization and quizzing. It's the only time her mind shuts off.

She adds more orange to it, not thinking about her boys or Gemma or Jax or the club. She's just thinking about how the sun looks when it sinks down past the horizon, how she can capture the feeling of a quiet twilight.

She forgets who she is. She forgets that she's a biker queen, married to a murderous outlaw, raising the child of a junkie, under the watchful eyes of liars, criminals, and worst of all, Gemma. For endless moments, she's just an amateur painter, one with promise and a spark of passion, but lacking training or technique.

It doesn't matter. It never has. She could burn her paintings down after finishing each one, and it wouldn't bother her in the slightest. The end result, the dried paint and messy lines are all just means for her to have silence in her skull. When her mind stops whirling at top speed and narrows to the slow stroke of a brush.

She hasn't painted like this since she was in college and med school. Once she'd graduated and started at the hospital, she hadn't needed it as much. She could focus on her patients, on their cases, solving how to help them and save their lives. But since coming home, she's found herself needing to paint more and more.

Jax had been confused, she remembers, as she paints the fading rays of the sun. She'd never painted in high school. He'd never known her when she had too many thoughts rattling around her brain, tugging and tearing at her. But now, she can't stop them. She needs to paint or she'll scream.

Thomas's whimpers draw her from her trance and she looks at the painting. The sunset looks good, now she can start working on the reflection. How to make the water sparkle and dance. How the horizon blends with the sky, creating a hazy division between the world and the sky, heaven and earth. How the colors of the sky mix with an azure ocean.

She wipes her hands clean, setting down the paintbrush. The living room is still messy, and she needs to start on dinner if she's going to have it ready before the boys get hungry. She moves the easel back where the boys can't knock the still drying photo, then goes to get Thomas.

* * *

 _Unser knowing the innocent Tara_

She wasn't always like this, he reflects sadly. Once, she was good and sweet and kind. Once, before Gemma and Jax and Charming made her sharp and pointed and rough.

(-)

He sighs and rubs his forehead, squinting at the letters that swim in front of him. Funny, how that's been happening more and more lately. Harder and harder to read and see. He's getting older though and—

"Uh, sir?" A timid voice asks and he looks up, spotting a small figure in the frame of the doorway.

"Come in." He says warmly and a short, thin girl eases into his office, looking mightily uncomfortable with it. "How can I help you?"

"My, uh, my name is… Tara Knowles?" She says uncertainly and he sets aside his pen and papers, so she knows she has his full attention. "I think my, uh my dad… He might, well, uh… Be here?"

"What's your dad's name sweetheart?" He asks gently and Tara hesitates again.

"Charlie. Charles Knowles."

"Ah." Unser sits back. Now he understands why his detectives must've sent her on back. Charlie Knowles has been a constant thorn in their sides for the last couple years- drunk and disorderly, drunk driving, public intoxication, petty theft, the whole nine yards. "Sit, I wanted to talk to you."

"Ok." A little timidly, Tara sits down in one of the chairs, seemingly curling in on herself. She looks relatively clean, he notes. Hair is a bit of messy ponytail, but she's probably learning how to do it herself, and no mother to teach her. Clean clothes, if not a little threadbare. But it's summer, so not much to worry about there. She's skinny, but not in the hollow way of hungry kids, just in a growing kid type way.

"Your dad got in some trouble." He says carefully and notes that Tara doesn't even blink. Her hazel eyes are steady on his face.

"He was drunk." She states factually and he tilts his head.

"How old are you?"

"I just turned 11." She says, a little proudly and his heart is heavy for her. So young and so smart. She deserves better than her father.

"And you're a smart girl." He compliments and Tara manages a tiny smile. "A lot smarter than your dad."

"Is he going to stay here for awhile?" She asks suddenly. "Because I don't like when he comes home drunk, but I don't want you to take me away either."

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk about." He says uneasily and Tara leans forward, intent. "I don't want to put you in the system."

"It oftentimes causes more damage than good." She says factually. "I read up on it, when I started thinking that my dad might do something really bad."

"He hasn't done anything that bad yet." Unser assures her, while silently marveling at her. Not even a teenager yet and she's already done her research on the foster system.

"Good." Tara's confidence is growing, and her words come a little faster now. "Because I know how to make myself food and I can do the laundry. I know where he hides the money and he never notices when I steal some for groceries. Plus, my neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, she's lonely since her daughter left, so she brings me leftovers. And my grandma pays the bills, so I have water and gas."

"You know all that?" He doesn't bother to hide his shock and Tara nods earnestly.

"And I'm gonna apply for benefits. I can do his signature now!" She stops talking abruptly, suddenly taking note of the badge on his chest, reminding herself that he's still a police officer and that little girls shouldn't say such things to cops.

"That's good." He encourages. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright. And if your dad gives you any trouble or if you run out of stuff, you come straight to me, ok?"

"I will." A little slowly, Tara slides off the chair. "Am I in trouble?"

"Smart, pretty girl like you?" Unser pretends to be shocked. "No, never."

"Ok." Tara practically bolts for the door before stopping and looking over her shoulder. "Oh, and thank you."

"Of course." Tenderly, he watches her disappear back into the bullpen. Her father was arrested for beating a man over a disputed tab, but Unser doubts the charges will stick, and soon enough, he'll be back on the streets. But his daughter, a bright, sweet girl, would do better off if he never came home again.

* * *

 _5 years sooner or 5 years later_

Tara stares up at the hospital in a state of shock. She's here. She did it. She made it through college, through medical school, and now here she is. The prodigal daughter, so to speak, returning home. A lowly intern, but with two very important letters in front of her last name. Dr. Dr. Tara Knowles. Dr. Knowles. She repeats it to herself over and over as she walks inside. It's her armor here.

It'd been a little impulsive to come back honestly. Probably really stupid. But it's home. And Tara has missed sunshine and the heat and main street and the turquoise sky. So she took the offer that St. Thomas had extended and now she's home.

First shift, in the ER. Ok. She takes a deep breath. She can do this. She's a doctor now. She's got this. She takes the chart the nurse had handed her and looks down at it, trying to make the letters organize themselves into words that she can comprehend. Two males, white, mid 20's, gunshot and stab wounds. What the hell? This is Charming, people don't get shot in Charming, they don't get— She yanks the curtains back and the chart clatters to the floor.

Jax is reclining on one bed, a hasty bandage keeping the blood from streaming from the hole in his bicep, eyes shut, teeth gritted. Opie, sitting on the end of it, looking down at the gash on his thigh with detached interest. Donna, slumped in a chair, rubbing her temples.

"Tara?" Opie's voice breaks the silence and both Jax and Donna snap to attention. Tara, knowing that she'll break if she sees Jax's bright blue eyes, bends down to pick up the chart.

"Hi-my-name-is-Dr.-Knowles-and-I-will-be-your-attending-today-before-I-begin-I-need-to-ask-you-a-couple-questions-are-you-allergic-to-anything?"

Silence so complete falls that it's only interrupted by the beeping of a heart monitor next to them, before Tara hears someone yelling about a code. No matter. She's too stunned by the trio in front of her to take notice of anything else. The hospital could burn down and she'd be here amongst the flickering flames, eyes locked with Jax.

"Peanuts." Donna says finally, breaking the silence. "Opie gets a rash if he eats peanuts. You know that."

"Of course." Reality crashes back and Tara scribbles that down on her chart. Somehow, improbably, her training kicks in and she completes the rest of her questions without skipping a beat. No one but Donna speaks, answers short and clipped. Tara deserves it, she knows that much. But she talks, incessantly, mostly out of habit. She talks about being good at bullet holes, because she's done a lot of them in Chicago. In fact, nearly all her patients were gangbangers, not saying that's what they are, it was an accident, or what story are they telling?

"Bar fight."

Good excuse, the wounds are clean, not a problem, they'll hardly scar, no worries, everything is fine, she tells them. She doesn't ask about the new tattoos that they sport. She doesn't comment on the kuttes that are carelessly slung in the chair next to Donna. She doesn't question the call Donna gets halfway through Jax's stitches where she tells someone to go back to sleep, mommy and daddy will be home soon.

When she's done, she stands back and stares at them. They're whole again, blood cleaned up and wiped away, like it never existed. Was her existence so easily removed from their lives? Or was she like the wounds, there to twinge and remind them that it happened, it was real?

She doesn't know how to spill these words out. She doesn't know if she even can. She's got years of education under her belt and as Jax gathers his ruined clothes, she doesn't know what to say to him. So instead she turns to Donna, who is watching her with a carefully closed expression.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"Yeah." Donna snatches up her purse. "Go back to Chicago or whatever. We were just fine without you."

"Donna." Opie chides, trying to stop her from leaving before flinching and nearly stumbling. Jax and Tara reach him at the same time, slipping under him to take his weight. Tara stares at Jax in astonishment, feeling like every nerve in her body is on fire and the only thing that will help is reaching out, touching him, and never stopping.

"Careful." Donna's face breaks into tenderness. "Don't pull out your nice stitches."

"I could just redo them." Tara eases out from under him gingerly. "You ok?"

"Fine." Opie mutters. "We better get home to the kids."

"Ok." Tara says, instead of the words that hover on her tongue. What are their names? How old are they? How many do you have? Can I meet them? "You know how to take care of stitches."

"Yes, I do." Donna answers, even though it's not a question, and her head is tilted to the side, like there's something more that she wants to say, but doesn't. When she turns to go, Jax swings his kutte on, and a small metal object clatters to the floor. Tara automatically crouches to pick it up, freezing when she realizes what it. A small gold band. A wedding ring. Opie and Donna both stop, watching how this is going to play out.

"Is this yours?" Tara asks needlessly, wondering how on earth she's going to handle his affirmative answer.

"Oh, that's where that was." Jax takes it from her, surprisingly unbothered. Tara's heart is shattering, and all Jax does is turn to Opie, holding it up. "Told you I didn't leave it in that motel. How late does the pawn shop stay open?"

"Not this late." Donna seems to have recovered, extending her hand out. "Give it, I'll keep it in a safe place till you sell it."

"Thanks." Jax hands it over. "Think it'll be enough to buy a new TV?"

"Maybe if you weren't such a cheap bastard when you married her, sure." Donna says idly.

"Paying for it with this divorce though." Jax retorts and Tara's heart unclenches, just enough. "See you around Dr. Knowles." The three of them saunter out, but before they round the corner, Jax turns and glances back at her. His eyes have that mischievous twinkle and for Tara, that's enough.

(-)

"Buddy, buddy, buddy." Jax says, trying to talk over the sound of Abel's game. "Buddy, screen down."

"Why?" Abel doesn't even look at him. "Grandma let's me play games before my appointments."

"Well, this is a big appointment." Jax says patiently. "You might have to get surgery again."

"So?" Abel doesn't seem fazed. "I've already had three."

"I know." Jax remembers the last one, remembers being terrified the whole 7 hours Abel spent in the operating room. "And I know you're a brave, tough kid, but I want us to do this together."

Abel's eyes flicker up from the screen to land on his dad's face for the briefest of moments. "Is that why you're here instead of Grandma?"

"Yeah." Jax won't lie to his son.

"I like the games." Abel declares, after a long pause. "I don't get scared if I play the games."

"Ok." Jax relents, leaning forward and kissing his son's head. "You're the toughest kid I know, do you know that?" Abel just grins and Jax goes back to wait for the pediatric cardiologist to hurry up and walk in.

"Sorry I'm late." Abel's doctor, a Santa Claus looking man with a thick white beard and lollipops in his pockets, enters. "I brought a visitor with me today."

"Who's she?" Abel asks curiously and Jax wants to laugh, wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to grab his son and shake him and tell him that's Tara Grace Knowles. And once upon a time, she could've been your mother.

"Abel, this is Dr. Tara. Tara, this is Abel Teller."

"It's nice to meet you." Tara keeps a permanent smile glued to her face, reaching her hand out to shake Abel's. "I'm a surgeon and I'm going to try to fix your heart."

"You know," The other doctor informs Jax quietly, as Tara talks with Abel about his game. "If she'd been here 5 years ago to perform the first surgery on him, he might not have had all these problems."

"Oh." Jax says, because that's all he can say. Every other function of his brain seems to have been taken over by big, flashing lights that are blaring 'TARA' repeatedly. The doctor is talking and he knows he should be listening, but instead he's staring at Tara, watching her with Abel.

She'd always been a natural with kids. Good with them, in a way Jax never had. She's still gorgeous, somehow even more so after all the years away. She's still got that smile, those hazel eyes framed by long eyelashes. He's still in love, he realizes. He wonders if he ever wasn't.

"So, like I said, of course you have more time to discuss it, but the sooner we perform the operation, the sooner Abel gets to walk out of here one last time. How's that sound, champ?" The doctor's words break Jax's daze.

"Pretty cool." Abel admits.

"I'll do my best." Tara promises him solemnly then turns to Jax. "Do you mind if we, uh, speak in private?"

"Of course." Jax stands too quickly, his phone clattering off his lap and onto the floor. Flustered, he grabs it and when he glances at Abel, he looks suspicious. "Lead the way."

"Ok." Tara guides him to a small, plain office, shutting the door behind him. "I know that this is likely a little strange but—"

"Why are you back?" Jax demands before he can help himself and Tara looks a little taken aback, but gamely answers the question.

"Finally managed to sell my house. Came back to clean some shit up and… Decided to stay. Charming is home." She says earnestly, then ducks her head shyly. "I saw Abel's case. I promise, I didn't know he was yours, it was just a file number. And I know the procedure to fix everything, no more surgeries, no more visits, I could help. Please, let me help him." She pleads.

"Of course." Jax is a little stung that Tara would think he'd do anything else. "He's my son, I love him, I would do anything to help him. Of course, I trust you."

"You do?" Tara seems more surprised by this than anything else.

"Yes." Jax admits, a little reluctantly. "Yes, I do. I always will, I can't… Not when it comes to you."

"Oh." She blushes and it's such a pretty shade on her that he can't help but grin. "Good, I was worried you were going to fight me on this."

"I won't. My mother might." He says wryly and Tara makes a face.

"I'm the doctor, she's the biker queen. I think this is my area of expertise."

"You're in Charming, it's all her domain. And besides, she's not queen anymore." He informs her and Tara looks up, frowning, about to ask the question before seeing the president patch he now wears.

"Oh. When'd that happen?"

"Clay's arthritis got pretty bad a few years ago. Guess it was my time." He shrugs, trying to play it off.

"Guess it was…" Tara mummers. "Can't stay a prince forever."

"Guess not." He awkwardly clasps his hands together. "So, uh, I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other?"

"I guess." Tara rouses herself with a small smile. "Abel's a great kid."

"I know." Jax says proudly. "And tough as hell. C'mon, talk to him, he'll tell you all his stories."

"Ok." Tara brushes against him as she walks out and it's enough for both to feel that connection is still there, just waiting for them to make a move.

 **AN:** I know it's only a couple stories but they honestly got away from me. Reviews are so, so appreciated, especially as we head into my not so favorite episodes. It's so great hearing from you all!


	75. Season 6- John 8:32

_Gemma praying_

Dear god,

Fuck this, and fuck you. This is ridiculous and stupid. If my mother could see me now, down on my knees, she would… I don't know. I don't know what she'd do. Die of shock, probably. But here I am. I don't know what to do. I guess Rose wins again. I'm still that scared 8 year old girl, deep down inside, all these years later.

I don't believe in you, so I don't know why I do this. I know you don't exist, you're not sitting up there on your all seeing throne, looking down on your children. You took my brother from me. You took my son. And if you are real, I will never, ever forgive you for those things. If you are real, and if I ever get within sight of your pearly gates, I will break them down.

But it's not about me anymore, it really isn't. I'm not here to ask favors. It's not like you've ever granted them anyways. You don't give a fuck about me and you never have. I've made my peace with that. But don't punish my boys for my mistake.

Don't punish Abel and Thomas. Don't take them away from me. Don't punish Nero, who's a good man. Better than John or Clay, that's for sure. Don't punish Jackson. Punish me. You're good at that, you bastard. But not my family. Leave them out of it.

You and I, we go back. I know I've said some things, done some things, and I know I sure as hell am not getting into heaven. That's fine. I knew that long ago. But don't touch those boys. Give me that, at least. You can destroy me everywhere else. But not my boys. Please, not my boys. I know you hear a lot of empty promises. But know this. I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't the absolute last resort.

Hurt me. But bless those boys.

And if you don't, fuck you.

* * *

 _Tig: "Do all teenage girls just hate me?" "Yes."_

"I hate you!" She bellows to Tig, who sighs and runs his hand through his hair.

"Wills." He tries, but Willow is pacing furiously. It's an interesting look, with her long blonde hair in an artfully messy braid, skin tanned and sparkling, arms folded over her slim chest that is glittering from all the sequins on her dress. Her heels, sky high stripper heels that she walks in with ease, click against the floor.

"Why? Why did you do that?" She demands.

"Because—" He tries to explain but she holds her hand up.

"Don't. Don't give me some smart ass comment about how I needed it or it was necessary." She glares and it's made more intense by the smokey eye makeup. "It was embarrassing."

"It was not." He scoffs and she stops in front of him, folding her arms. He notices how she looks more like Opie when her brow is furrowed in a serious expression.

"I was going to prom!" Willow yells, throwing her hands up. "I was going to do what normal teenage girls do, and go to prom! I was going to wear a dress and do my hair and dance and you all ruined that!"

"The dance doesn't start for another hour." Tig tries to calm her, but Willow resumes her pacing.

"The one night in high school that I was just going to be a normal kid, for once in my whole life, and you ruined it!"

"Ok, now you're just being dramatic." Tig folds his own arms, sitting back in his chair.

"Am I?" Willow stares him down without fear and for a long second, they stand off against each other, until finally Tig sighs and leans forward.

"Ok, look Wills, I get why you're mad."

"Do you?"

"Yes, quit snapping at me. It was your special night and we ruined it by showing up. But if you'd give me five seconds to explain, maybe you wouldn't be so mad."

"Fine." Willow collapses into the chair opposite him. "Explain then."

"Willow," He says carefully. "We didn't mean for it to come off as the club trying to hover. You know what your dad meant to us."

"Yes." Willow's expression is carefully guarded.

"Well, when he died, we all promised that we'd help raise you guys. You were a baby. I think every guy in this clubhouse has changed a diaper or warmed up a bottle or put a bandaid on." He reaches out to take her hand. "You're our little girl honey, all of us. So we just wanted to see our little girl off on her first prom. And threaten to chop her date's dick off if he gets too close. Because that's what your dad would've done."

"It was kinda overkill with the whole west coast rolling up." Willow says, avoiding his eyes, her throat tight.

"Sorry." He pats her hand, then draws her knuckles up to kiss them. "You deserve nothing less."

"I'm still really, really mad at you." Willow informs him, standing up, eyes still determinedly examining the left corner of the ceiling. "And I still hate you."

"Ok." Tig shrugs. "Most teenage girls usually do."

With something between a snort and a giggle, Willow pulls him into a hug and he marvels for a second at how tall she stands with those heels on. He gives her a gentle squeeze then waits until she's done sniffling and has touched up her makeup.

"Alright, well, I better go, I wanna make it to the dance." She says, blinking rapidly.

"Sure you do." Tig kisses her temple. "Better hurry up and say your goodbyes then, I know your mom's going to want pictures."

"So many pictures." Willow rolls her eyes, a little more composed and Tig smiles as he opens the door back to the clubhouse. Willow's date is sitting at the table, looking terrified, Piper and Kevin on either side of him, glowering, Lyla and Ellie sitting relaxed across from him. Bikers and crow eaters are milling about, turning and pausing to look at Willow and Tig.

"We doing pictures?" Tig questions loudly and there's a flurry of movement as cameras are brought out. Willow glances over her shoulder as she's herded outside by her mother and sister, smiling. She mouthes 'Thank you' before disappearing.

"Kid's got a set of vocals on her." Rat comments, grabbing a beer for Tig.

"No kidding." Tig comments, popping the top off. "And christ can she hold a grudge."

"Good kid though." Rat glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Great kid." Tig takes a sip. "Teenage girls though man, they go through this thing. Blame you for anything."

"Great." Rat shakes his head. "Can't wait for that for my own."

"Have fun." Tig claps him on the back, then goes to take pictures with Willow.

* * *

 _Abel's heart meds_

"I don't wanna!" Abel shouts and Wendy puts her head in her hands, rubbing her temples.

"Abel, you have to." She tries to stay calm, but it's hard when she has a screaming ten year old throwing tantrum that could put a two year old to shame.

"Why?" He juts his chin out stubbornly. "Why do I gotta?"

"Because." Wendy snaps. "Because if you don't then you might die and do you know what happens if you die? Then I will be so sad I will have no choice but to die too and then Tommy will be left all alone. Do you want Tommy to be all alone or do you want to take your meds like a big boy?"

"What?" Abel's jaw has dropped and tears are welling up, lower lip trembling fiercely. Wendy cringes, crouching down to do damage control.

"No, no, I'm sorry sweetie. That wasn't what I meant, I'm sorry. Mama is just tired. Mama didn't mean it."

"I'm… Gonna… Die?" Abel warbles, moments away from tears and Wendy groans, pulling him into a tight hug.

"No, no, of course not sweet boy. Of course not. I didn't mean that."

"And.. You're.. Gonna… Die?" Abel is sobbing, entire body shaking.

"No, Abel, honey, I din't mean it like that. I was just trying to get you to take your pill, ok?"

"And… Tommy… Is… Gonna… Be… Alone?" Abel sobs heavier and Wendy rocks him back and forth, mentally cursing herself out.

"No, Abel, listen. Listen to me. I didn't mean it like that."

"Who's… Gonna… Take… Care… Of… Tommy?" Abel wails and Wendy groans loudly, reaching down to scoop Abel up, thankful for once that he's scrawny and lean, still light enough for her to pick up. She carries him to the couch where she sits and he curls up on her lap. It's strange, because he's at the age where he refuses to cuddle anymore, and she enjoys feeling his weight against her again.

"Hey, hey, calm down." She smoothes his hair back and keeps rocking gently. "Buddy, it's ok. It's ok, I am right here."

"But… Tommy!" Abel hiccups. "He's gonna be… All alone!"

"No, no, he will never be alone." Wendy reassures him. "He's got Nero, remember? Nero is always gonna be here to take care of you guys, remember? We promised each other."

"Ok." That calms Abel some. "But am I gonna die?"

"No, no, no." Wendy squeezes him close. "No, and I was wrong to say that baby. But you know you have to take your pills."

"Why?" Abel thankfully gets distracted by his earlier train of thought and Wendy sighs, knowing she's going to have to explain now.

"I told you, your heart doesn't work like mine. It works like uncle Nero's." She says carefully.

"But why?" Abel presses and she wipes the tears from his cheeks.

"Because sweetheart, some families have hearts that don't work the same way as everyone else's. So you have to take the pills that make you strong and healthy." She rubs his back.

"My family has hearts that don't work?" He latches onto that and Wendy sighs.

"Yes honey. Your daddy and your grandma and your uncle and lots of people in that family. They had hearts like yours."

"Is that why they're all dead?" Abel bolts up, ramrod straight, alarmed.

"No!" Wendy cries instantly. "No honey, no."

"Am I going to die?" Abel's eyes are welling again, lip trembling fiercely, and Wendy can't do anything but pull him in tight.

"No, no baby. That's not why at all." She kisses his forehead, eyes, nose, then cheeks. "Remember what I told you?"

"Yeah." Abel calms some. "Daddy had an accident."

"An accident." Wendy pulls him close and shuts her eyes, rocking him back and forth. "Not his heart at all. You're going to grow up strong and big, just like Nero, ok?"

"Ok." Abel takes a deep breath, seemingly back to himself. "But mom?"

"What sweetie?" She cleans his face off once more.

"What does happen to Tommy if you have an accident?"

"Oh." Wendy is a little taken aback. "Well, he'd stay here with Nero, on the farm. Is that ok?"

"Yeah." Abel squirms out of her lap, heading for the playroom, stopping by the counter to grab the pill he'd been fighting so hard against taking ten minutes earlier. "Hey mom?"

"Yes?" She watches him sadly.

"Is Nero our only family?" Abel doesn't seem sad or upset, just openly curious.

"Yes." Wendy says simply. "Yes Abel, he is."

"Ok." Abel walks into the playroom without looking back and Wendy's own heart breaks for him.

* * *

 _Jax learning about the divorce_

The word rings in his ears. Divorce. It's such an ugly word. How come no one ever talks about how ugly a word it is? Divorce. It's like it's divided into two halves itself, like the first half can't bear to be associated with the other half. A fitting word for his shattering heart.

Divorce. From Tara. His wife. The love of his life. His world. The mother, true mother, of his sons. His soulmate. And she wants a divorce? A divorce, from him, from their marriage. How long did they even last? Did they make it to their first anniversary? He doesn't know anymore. Dates are irrelevant. Surviving is the only thing that matters.

Maybe that's why she's divorcing him. Makes sense. Can't even remember their wedding anniversary, because she married him in a whore house while he was a wanted fugitive from the law, forced to visit him in prison, forced to watch a woman be murdered, forced to lose everything for what? A ring on her finger?

He knows he should be worried about the boys. He knows if his mother was here, those would be the first words out of her mouth. And in a moment, he will fear for his sons. But right now, he needs time to mourn for his wife, for his marriage.

He's loved her since he was 16, since they were children. Kids. Fate had ripped them apart. Fate had brought them back together. He'd thought he'd done it right this time. Loved her. Stayed for her. Told her the truth. Was mostly faithful to her. Had a baby with her. Married her. Wasn't that enough?

Maybe to a normal woman. Maybe a normal wife would be content in a normal life, but that's not what Jax can offer Tara. It's not what he can offer anyone. He is an outlaw, a criminal, a murderer. That's who he is. He thought Tara knew going in.

Knowing and living are two different things, he knows this. But Tara is strong, and fierce, and tough as hell. He'd fallen in love when her all those years ago because of exactly that. Because she's fearless and brave. He loves her. He loves her so much it hurts.

Divorce. He knows there's a lot of reasons for it. He knows it's because she's trying to take the boys. Trying to keep them from him, from Gemma, from the club and Charming and everything that he was raised to think of as good. He knows it's because she's trying to take them.

But he can't focus on that, not yet. First he needs to get over his breaking heart that's telling him the only woman he's ever loved, ever truly and honestly loved, no longer loves him back. No longer wants him. No longer wants to be with him, sharing children and a bed and a life. She doesn't want to be his other half anymore.

Divorce. It's an ugly word and Jax wishes he could blow it to bits.

* * *

 _"I gave my blessing for Clay to kill John Teller."_

"Hey baby." Gemma greets Clay with a long, deep kiss, letting the shoulder of her tank top slide down just a little bit. A trick, and usually Clay falls for it. Usually he picks her up and tosses her onto the bed, looming over her with a smirk. Usually he removes her clothes with his teeth. Usually he pulls her hair and slaps her ass. Usually they're having sex by now, and when they're not, Gemma leans back with a frown.

"I wanna talk." Clay's avoiding her eyes, taking a painstakingly long time to pull his boots off. Gemma sits up a little straighter.

"What's wrong?" She asks instantly.

"Nothing." He assures her. "Nothing, the club is still in Lodi."

"What do they think you're doing?" Gemma asks, partially because she's curious to see what lies he tells the club to see her but also to make sure she has her story straight for later.

"Oh, we got a hot bike in the shop, client wants it done by tomorrow. Told them I'd stay back and get shit tuned up on it." He waves a hand. "Nothing Lowell can't handle."

"Ah." Gemma nods, folding her hands. "Well, what do you want to talk about then?"

"This." Clay looks up at her finally and she's a little alarmed to see how dark and intense his eyes are.

"What?" Her stomach is sinking. The moment is finally here. He's going to walk away. He doesn't want her anymore. She's used up. Worthless. Garbage. Nothing. He never loved her, never will. She's unlovable, she's…

"We need to talk about John."

"What about John?" She's a little taken aback. This isn't what she expected. This is the very opposite of what she expected.

"Gemma," It sounds like Clay is straining for patience. "I fuck you, in his house. In his bed. Do you know how hard that is for me?"

"Well, I thought we agreed that it was less suspicious if—"

"Gemma." He holds up a hand tiredly. "For one second, just stop and think about this from my perspective."

"What do you want?" She turns on the defensive in an instant. "What do you want from me Clay?"

"Everything." He's calm, controlled, and that almost scares Gemma more. "I know what I want Gemma. I know that it's a life with you."

"We have that." Gemma tries to wave aside her terror dismissively. "We're together."

"No, we're not." Clay says shortly, pointing to the picture on the wall. It's a large photo, one of the few professional photos they'd ever gotten taken. John, solemn and serious in his kutte, Gemma, young and youthful in a black dress. Jax sits atop John's lap, a mischievous grin on his face, while Gemma holds a peacefully slumbering Thomas.

"That is one of my favorite photos." Gemma isn't lying. It's one of few of them, as a family. With Thomas, before everything went to hell. She doesn't care that John's in it. What's important is her boys.

"It's him Gemma, it's all a reminder of the life you've built. The one you built with him, not me!" Clay is getting angry, his voice raising, and Gemma gets up, looking at him, alarmed.

"Why are you mad at me? You know I want you." She tries to soothe him. "You know I love you."

"Do you?" Clay is pacing down, in front of the photo. "Do you, when you stay here, in this house, with him? Do you love me? Do you want me? Gemma, I'm going crazy."

"Why?" Gemma tries to reach for him, but he's out of her grasp.

"Because I love you." He says flatly, looking at her. "I am in love with you. You are the woman of my dreams. I want you. I want you in my arms, my bed, my life. And every second you're with him, I… I… I go crazy."

"You know I'm always thinking about you." Gemma coos. "Wishing it was you. Wanting it to be you. I love you baby, not him. I just have to be with him."

"Why?" Clay asks shortly and Gemma hesitates, opening and closing her mouth several times before looking down at the wedding band that sits on her left hand.

"I don't know." She whispers. "Because he's Jax's father. Because he is my husband. Because I loved him."

"Gemma." Clay finally approaches her and grabs her face, holding her tightly. "Gemma, I need you. I need you to be mine and only mine. I need this. I need you to love me. I need you. But not like this."

"Then what do you want?" Gemma's stomach is sinking, waiting for him to leave. Waiting for him to toss her aside.

"You." He kisses her deeply, until she's weak in the knees, clinging to him for stability as desire pools in her stomach. "You Gem, I want you. I want to be together. And I need you to tell me that you're ok with everything I'm going to do to make this happen." His eyes search her face. "Or I have to leave."

"No." She surprises herself with how broken her whisper sounds. "No, I can't go on without you. You- and Jax- you're all I have."

"I know." He kisses her forehead. "Gem, I'll never leave you. There's just some stuff I have to do."

"What?" She clings to him. "What are you going to do?"

Clay hesitates for a few long moments, before answering, "What it takes."

"Alright." Gemma whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. She knows what she has to do. The way her heart had stopped, her fragile, weak heart, when he'd threatened to leave. She knows she can't stand a day without him. And she can't stand another day with John. It needs to be done.

"What?" He leans back, a little confused.

"Alright." She says, a little louder, a little clearer. "Whatever you have to do. It's alright. I love you."

"I love you." Clay covers her with kisses, finally carrying her to the bedroom. "I'll love you forever."

When they're done, Clay doesn't stick around for long. He's pulling on his boxers, looking for his socks, when Gemma rolls over and watches him thoughtfully.

"Where you going?" She asks.

"Back to the shop." He reveals, finding his teeshirt. "Gonna help Lowell with a couple bikes."

"Ok." Gemma blows him a kiss. "See you later. I love you."

"I love you too." He kisses her and then is gone.

* * *

 _Tara's lullaby_

 **May your dreams bring you peace in the darkness,**

 **May you always rise over the rain.**

 **May the light from above always lead you to love,**

 **May you stay in the arms of the angels.**

"You're different from your brother." Claire, a pretty blonde cheerleader, glancing back over her shoulder at Thomas. He drags his eyes off her bright spandex, to look up at her.

"What do you mean?" He asks, hoping to distract her from the fact that he'd been checking out her ass during their hike.

"Your brother, Abel." Claire explains. "You guys are really different."

"How well do you know my brother?" Thomas asks curiously and Claire shrugs.

"I dunno, we've been to a couple parties together. Why?"

"Abel puts on a front around people." Thomas explains, helping Claire over a tree branch that has fallen over the path. "He likes to come off as dark and mysterious and deep. He's not."

"Really?" Claire looks at him. "I mean, the whole black clothes and skulls and motorcycle doesn't really scream 'I'm happy'."

"Sure." Thomas shrugs. "But he's not as tortured a soul as he wants to be."

"Why's he a tortured soul?" Claire ducks down a smaller path and Thomas follows, glad to be back in the vantage point of being behind her.

"Well, you know, our dad's dead. His mom was an addict. He's got a heart defect. And everyone else in our family is dead." He lets it all spew out. Abel can write this shit down. Thomas has to say it out loud.

"His mom?" Claire catches the wording. "Do you guys not have the same mom?"

"No." Thomas shakes his head. "Wendy adopted me though, so she is my mom."

"Where's your mom?" Claire asks curiously.

"Dead."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Claire stops, her hand coming up to cover her dropped jaw. "Thomas, I didn't—"

"I know." He says easily, walking past her and tugging on her hand. "I wasn't even two yet when it all happened. It's not a big deal anymore. I mean, I've spent nearly all my life with Wendy. I never even knew my real mom and dad."

"But… You're an orphan." Claire trails after him, a little stunned. "Doesn't that, I don't know, hurt?"

"You mean why am I not dressed in black like Abel, always pissy and angry at the world?" Thomas clarifies and Claire hesitates. "It's fine, we all know it's true. I don't know. I guess I'm just a happy kid. Try to see the sun through the clouds, you know?" He shrugs.

"Still!" Claire runs after him. "I guess I just…"

"I have a family, ok?" He turns and grabs her by the shoulders, stopping her. She looks at him, wide eyed. "I have a family and they're great and they love me. And I'm sure my mom and dad loved me before they died. But they're not here. We are. So let's talk about something other than them on our first date, ok?"

"Wait." Claire's mouth turns up into a smile. "Is this a date?"

"Sure." Thomas struggles not to shrug and blush. "Now c'mon, there's a cool trail up here."

 **May you always be brave in the shadows**

 **till the sun shines upon you again.**

 **Hear this prayer in my heart**

 **and will ne'er be apart,**

 **May you stay in the arms of the angels.**

When the curtains are yanked open, he cringes and tries to turn his face away. His pillow smells like vomit however and he dry heaves. There's nothing left for his stomach to throw up anymore. He attempts to roll away, but when he cracks his eyes opening, a disapproving face greets him.

"You're laying in your own piss, you know that?"

"Missed you too big bro." He croaks, trying to push himself up. Abel doesn't make a move to help him, just watches him.

"You need a shower." He says flatly.

"Yeah." Thomas grumbles, not bothering to disagree.

"You popping pills now?" Abel roams around the room, picking things up, including the little orange bottle.

"Those are prescribed." Abel informs him. "From all my lacrosse injuries, you know."

"Oh, uh huh." Abel flips the bottle. "That why you're down to three and this prescription should last you two more months?"

"Well, I'm in pain." Thomas waits for the world to stop spinning before he tries to stand.

"Clearly." Abel turns and watches as Thomas stumbles out of his bedroom, down the hallway, and into the bathroom. Abel remains a couple steps behind him, not once attempting to help.

"Why are you here?" Thomas asks finally, splashing water on his face.

"Mom's orders." Abel leans against the doorway. "She's a little worried about you."

"I'm fine." He insists. "Can't a kid party without it being a big deal? Damn, no one said anything when you did it."

"I also wasn't sent to the hospital to get my stomach pumped last week." Abel says quietly and Thomas tenses. "Look, I get it, last year of college, blow off some steam, let loose, whatever. But Tommy, you're sick."

"I am not." Thomas pushes past him to head to the kitchen. "I was at a party, it got a little wild, shit happens. You telling me that people don't drink and smoke at the club?"

"Sure." Abel watches as Tommy rummages through the empty fridge, finding a solitary egg and a moldy slice of cheese. "They're also not spiraling into depression and are isolating themselves. You need help."

"What do you know?" Rage flaring, Thomas slams the fridge door shut. "What the fuck do you even know? Nothing. Nothing at all, ok? This is my life. You don't know shit about me or my problems. So stop coming in here, acting all sage and wise, when you did this exact same shit in high school. Only difference is everyone fucking hovers over me and it's stupid. I'm a grown ass man, I can take care of my own shit!"

"Sure." Abel glances at the photos on the fridge, noting which ones they are. Tara in a leather jacket, smirking. Jax, on a bike, smoking. Thomas and Abel and Lucius and Nero and Wendy. Him, as a baby. Abel gently plucks the one of Tara off the fridge.

"Don't." Thomas's voice is small and broken. "Please, don't."

"You know," Abel carefully puts it back. "The Winston's have a lot more pictures of mom and dad. You could come see them."

"I'm not going back to Charming." Thomas's hand hovers over the photo, trembling. "I don't… I don't want to see… That place."

"I get it." Abel grabs his stuff from where he'd put it beside the door. "I was the same way, like you said. Shit got all twisted up inside my mind, made me question and wonder. Felt like I was drowning in this. You know what helped? Coming home. Maybe it's time you try too."

"Abel." Thomas calls tiredly before Abel can walk out. He pauses, reaching for the door handle. "How'd you deal with it? The fact that our whole family is… Dead."

"Our whole family isn't dead." Abel tilts his head, looking at him in bewilderment. "Dad is, mom is, grandparents, sure. But there's a whole family in Charming. And they'd get your pain better than anyone else. When you're ready, baby brother, you can come home."

When he leaves, Thomas sinks down to the floor, staring at the photos of the fridge. His mother. His father. His family. The people he's never known. The orphan. He curls his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them, and let's himself sob.

 **May you hear every song in the forest**

 **and if ever you lose your own way;**

 **Hear my voice like a breeze**

 **whisper soft through the trees.**

 **May you stay in the arms of the angels**

He stands on top of the large hill, looking down at Charming. It's an unremarkable town, when it's all said and done. Small, neat roads, houses and businesses, with a downtown that's being revived with little shops and stores. It's any town, USA.

But it's home now. It's home. It's where he lives. He owns a house, 3 miles from Abel and Willow, 6 from the clubhouse, 10.25 from work. He has a car, a Ford truck that he leases, and a Harley Davidson bike that he owns. He spends his days at work, then spends his evenings and weekends at the club.

He's not sure if he's a hang around or just an associate. No one presses him. No one pushes for him to join. No one talks about the fact that he's a legacy, that his last name is what the club was built on. Instead, they tell him stories, they get him beers, they laugh with him and take the piss out of him on the daily.

But it's home. He doesn't feel so lost anymore. He doesn't feel like he's broken, abandoned, alone anymore. Here, he's got family. He's got uncles that protect him, a sister in law that nags him, an extended family of adopted cousins. He's loved. He's wanted. He's home.

He still doesn't know how to feel most days, when he rides past and sees the gravestones of his parents. He still feels the ache, somewhere beneath his breastbone, of a life he could've lived. For the love that he lost. For two parents, young, in the prime of their lives, taken from him.

But he no longer calls himself an orphan. Abel was right. There's something powerful in the way that the club can engulf someone, taking on their burdens and spreading it around, making the load a little lighter for everyone. It's a relief, to know that he's not alone. He doesn't have to face the world alone.

He watches the sun sink down from his bike. He doesn't know how long he'll stay in Charming. He doesn't know how long he'll need this safety net. He just knows that for the first time in his life, he's got people behind him that will catch him if he falls. Love him, unconditionally. Care about him, regardless of the choices he makes.

He doesn't know if he'll join the club. He doesn't know if he'll stay in Charming forever. He isn't sure what he'll do tomorrow, or the day after that, or in three years.

But today, Thomas Teller the second sits on a hill above Charming, watching the sunset from his bike, and knows he's home.

 **May you grow up to stand as a man, love**

 **with the pride of your family and name.**

 **When you lay down your head**

 **to rest in your bed,**

 **May you stay in the arms of the angels.**

A warbling cry floats down the hallway and through the open door of the master bedroom. Two figures, hunkered down in bed, roll over with groans. The smaller figure goes to stand, but then a hand stills her.

"I got it." Thomas mutters, swinging his legs out of bed and getting up with a groan. He shuffles down the hallway, turning into the doorway to a nursery painted with yellow sunshines and furnished with elephants. He looks down at the source of the noise, a fussy little girl, with pale skin, dark hair, and pretty hazel eyes.

He reaches down and plucks her up, gently hoisting her onto his chest, patting her butt and shifting from side to side, trying to get her to calm down and stop her cries. She moves to sniffling as he lowers her onto the changing table.

"What's the problem, huh?" He wonders, mostly to himself. "What's the issue, baby girl? What's the deal? Why the fuss, why the fuss?" She just blinks and shakes her little fist at him. He chuckles, changing her diaper with ease. When he's done, she's still sniffling, threatening to wail again, so he picks her up and moves to the rocker, sitting down and arranging her on his chest.

"May your dreams bring you peace in the darkness, may you always rise over the rain. May the light from above always lead you to love, may you stay in the arms of the angels." He whispers softly to her, stroking her back and she settles down, little hand reaching out to his face.

"May you always be brave in the shadows till the sun shines upon you again. Hear this prayer in my heart and will ne'er be apart, may you stay in the arms of the angels." He hums and her breathing is evening out, falling into a slow and steady rhythm. He smiles slightly, enjoying the reassuring weight of her on his chest.

"May you hear every song in the forest and if ever you lose your own way; hear my voice like a breeze whisper soft through the trees. May you stay in the arms of the angels." He breathes, carefully getting up. She's fast asleep once more, tiny cupid's bow puckering. He sets her in her crib and straightens up, watching her sleep, before turning. His wife stands in the doorway, watching him with a faint smile.

"She always falls right asleep when you sing her that. Where's it from?" She asks, as Thomas eases the door shut.

"An old lullaby." He tells her, glancing at the name painted on the door. Anna Grace. "One my mom use to sing to me."

 **AN:** Well that got out of hand very quickly... Tell me which one was your favorite? Y'all are the greatest!


	76. Season 6- Huang Wu

_Tara being truly scared of Jax_

She freezes in the doorway, staring in flat horror at the sight of Jax, his lips pressed to Thomas's temple, watching as Abel sleeps. For the first time in her entire life, she is scared, utterly terrified, of the man that stands in front of her.

When they were kids, Tara was never scared of him. Sure, she knew he was dangerous. She knew that he threw a wicked right hook and that he was likely to fly off the handle. But she was never scared of that. In fact, she liked it. She was turned on it. His anger, his rage would never touch her, she was sure of that.

When they were a little older, parts of him made her nervous, a little wary, but she was never scared. She'd roll her eyes at the fights he'd get in, sighing as she'd wipe blood away. She saw the dangers of the club, saw the direction he was heading in. But she never thought it could be turned onto her. He loved her too much for that.

Then she came back to Charming, and it was a new Jax. Same quick tempered boy from her youth, but now with a flash of deadliness. He was willing to go further than punches- now it was bullets. But it was for her. To protect her. Because he loved her. He'd never do anything to hurt her.

Even when he descended further and further into club madness, taking up the gavel and becoming the king, she was sure she remained above his ruthless reign. It wasn't possible that he'd every lay a finger on her or their boys. He loved them. He was a husband and a father. Sure, he murdered the family members of other's. But he would never touch them.

Now, she's not so sure. She's never been here with Jax, on the other end of his wrath. Staring down the barrel of his gun. It's completely terrifying, absolutely heart stopping. She's here because of her actions and her choices. She brought herself here.

She doesn't know what to do but stand in the doorway, terrified that he's going to kill her. Shoot her in front of their sons. Cave her head in. Snap her neck. Leave her bleeding out on the floor. Something. Anything. He's capable of it.

But never did she think with her.

* * *

 _Gemma not accustomed to little affection_

It's a strange thing, Nero reflects. Gemma wouldn't flinch from a punch. She wouldn't bat an eye for a slap, for a shove, for a kick. She'd probably snarl and come up swinging. To get beaten down isn't unusual for her.

But there's something heartbreaking about the way she reacts with surprise to the small touches. She'll jump if he places his hand on the small of her back. She'll pause if he kisses her temple. She'll flinch when he raises a hand to brush her hair back. She goes wide eyed with confusion when he stops to hold her hand.

It's the words too, that startle her. Gemma can take verbal abuse all day long. Nero's heard her called truly horrible, awful things. He's seen her spar with Tara and Jax and even Clay. He knows what's said about her behind her back. He knows how people feel. But everyday, Gemma takes the words and the hate and shrugs, not bothered in the least by what anyone says, shrugging and brushing it off.

What stuns her however, stops her in her tracks, is sweet words. When he tells her how pretty she looks, not sexy. When he tells her how sweet she is, how kind. How he admires her heart, her capacity for love, instead of her tits. She'll laugh or try to blow them off, dismissing them with quick wit or sarcasm.

So he keeps repeating himself, over and over, trying to get it to sink in. Trying to show her how much he means it. But it's like she can't understand softness, gentleness. It makes him wonder if she ever was vulnerable. From what he tells her of Rose, then John, then Clay, he's not sure if it was ever possible for her to be.

He keeps working at it. Keeps wishing sweet nothings to her, keeps patting her cheek and kissing her forehead, trying to treat her right. He's not sure if it's every going to work. But he knows that it's worth it, to show the woman that he loves as much kindness as he can.

* * *

 _"Thomas and Abel will not be raised by you. Mommy moved away. Mommy passed away." - what they tell the boys_

"Mom," Abel asks her calmly one morning, moving his mac and cheese around on his plate. Wendy looks up from where she's peeling an orange. "What happened to my first mom?"

Wendy drops the orange and it lands amid a pile of rinds. Thomas, sitting next to Abel with his own bowl of mac and cheese, watches her with big, serious eyes. With trembling hands, she reaches down and picks the orange back up.

"I've told you before," She takes a deep breath to stop her voice from cracking. "Her name was Tara, she loved you very much, and she went to be with the angels."

"I know." Abel takes another bite of his mac and cheese. "But Samuel J in school, his grandma went to be with the angels because she was old and sick. Was my first mom old?"

"No." Wendy squeezes her eyes shut, trying for an impassive expression. She focuses on separating the orange into equal pieces. "No, she was young sweetie."

"Then was she in an accident like Daddy?" Abel presses and Thomas is listening intently.

"No." Wendy's voice breaks. "No honey, she wasn't."

"Then was she sick like Lucius?" Abel presses and Wendy glances at the door, wishing desperately that Nero and his son would come through the door, back from another hospital visit, grinning and distracting her boys.

"No." She hears her voice faintly, as if she's far away. "No, she wasn't. She was beautiful and healthy."

"Then why did she go to the angels?" Tommy pipes up. Numbly, the orange slices falls from her palms onto the boys' plates.

"Because she was so good and kind and sweet, the angels wanted her with them so badly that they couldn't wait another day." The words taste like ash in her mouth as she remembers the real cause.

Gemma. Gemma murdered Tara. Thought she was going to rat, or run, or take the boys. Gemma, crazed, stabbing her. Tara was not old or sick, and it was no accident. It was murder. But how does she tell her sweet little boys that?

"I don't like the angels." Abel stabs his fork into an orange slice, making juice squirt everywhere and Wendy jumps.

"Why?" She questions, surprised. Abel has always liked angels, liked the idea of Tara and Jax in the sky, watching over him.

"Because they took my mommy from me." Abel gets off his chair and runs for his bedroom and Wendy doesn't bother to call him back. It seems futile anyways. So she turns to Thomas, who's eating an orange slice, eyes downcast.

"Sweetheart," She tries, but then he too slides from his chair and follows Abel. She stays where she is in the kitchen, head in her hands, until finally the door does open and Nero strides in.

"Hey mama, what's wrong?" He asks loudly, seeing the dirty dishes and Wendy's slumped shoulders.

"The boys asked what happened to Tara. Really happened." She mutters and while Nero's face goes carefully blank, he reaches out and pulls her into a hug.

"Hey, it's ok. What'd you tell them?"

"That she went to be with the angels. How the hell do I ever tell them what really happened?" Her breath hitches as she tries to hold back the sobs. "How on earth do I tell those boys what their grandma did, to their own mother?"

"You don't." Nero rocks her back and forth. "You don't. You keep doing what you're doing, protecting them from that truth."

"Abel knew, he knew when he was younger." Wendy rubs her eyes furiously. "I'm so scared that's going to surface again, that he's going to be traumatized by it…"

"Hey." Nero grabs her face tightly. "Nothing you can do till that comes up, ok? Right now, you're doing the right thing."

"Ok, ok, ok, you're right." Wendy wipes away her tears. "You're right, I just, they've got so much shit in their past, it's hard to ever see a way where it doesn't break them."

"They're strong." Nero pats her shoulder reassuringly. "Like their mamas, and their dad. Just keep your head up, ok? You got this, mama."

"Ok." Wendy nods and then excuses herself to the bathroom. She doesn't have this, she knows that. She knows she's going to mess up, soon. Tara wouldn't have. Tara would've been the perfect mother. But Tara is gone, passed away, murdered, with the angels. And only Wendy remains.

* * *

 _"Look what you did to me!" - if Tara hadn't came back_

Tara drops her coat into the chair beside the door to her office. Her briefcase gets tossed onto her desk carelessly and she collapses into her chair, rubbing her temples. She wants to kick her heels off and have a stiff drink, but that's not possible. So instead she presses the button on her phone.

"Coffee?" She barks and after a second, a timid voice asks,

"Would you like me to send it up?"

"Yes please." Tara tries her best not to snap then hangs up and spins so she's looking out of the window that is the wall behind her.

The cityscape of Chicago, especially when the sun is just starting to come up, is beautiful. From her office on the top floor of the hospital, Tara can see out amongst the buildings. In the morning, when the night lights still blinks, it offers her a strange sense of calm.

"Your coffee." Her assistant, a young man, eases into her office and sets it down on her desk. Tara takes it, still looking out over the skyline. He gets to work hanging up her coat. "You've got a pretty busy schedule this morning, with board meetings. I'm having lunch brought in."

"Thank you." She says hollowly, not truly comprehending his words.

"Then this afternoon the McKane donors are coming in- the ones who are willing to build a new pediatric wing- so you're going to give them a personal tour of the hospital." He reminds her.

"Nice touch." She mummers, finally turning back to her desk and opening her briefcase. "Then?"

"Paperwork, sadly. We need you to review cases, approve requests, look over next years budget, and—"

"Ok, ok, ok." Tara waves a hand. "Thank you Josh, but I think I get it from there. I'll call if I need anything."

"Yes ma'am." He bobs his head and departs. Tara sighs and sorts through the paperwork on her desk. She loses track of time, until Josh slips back into her office with an apologetic smile.

"Board meetings." He reminds her and she nods, standing, straightening out her dress and hair.

"Another coffee." She requests and he nods, ducking away as she walks to the boardroom, plastering a smile on her face.

Not enough coffee in the world can get her through the board meetings, quietly listening as they debate costs and services, bickering about who gets what. She tries to keep her patience in check, stopping herself from making some of the nastier comments. When lunch is finally over and Josh has appeared in the doorway, she excuses herself with a sense of relief and heads downstairs to meet the donors.

"Good afternoon." Mr. McKane is a tall man, greying at the temples, with an impeccable suit. Mrs. McKane is shorter, with a pretty purple dress and sensible heels. She looks as if she could be Tara's mother or fashionable aunt.

"Hello." Tara shakes their hands warmly. "I'm Dr. Tara Knowles, Chief of Medicine here. I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to come down."

"Our pleasure." Mrs. McKane beams. "It's good to be back. We had our first son here, did you know that?"

"I didn't." Tara begins walking with them, intentionally heading towards the surgery wing. "How long ago was that may I ask?"

"45 years ago, though I'm sure that's dating me." Mrs. McKane laughs, a happy sound. "The team here saved his life. Wouldn't have lived without the surgeons and nurses. That's why we want to give back."

"Well, that area holds a soft spot for me as well." Tara smiles, ushering them through the doors towards surgery. "I specialized in neonatal surgery."

"Did you?" Mr. McKane beams. "Tell us more about you, Dr. Knowles."

"Well, I've been here—" Tara starts, but Mrs. McKane cuts her off with a wave of her hand.

"No, no dear, tell us about you. Yourself! Where were you born, where did you grow up?" She presses and Tara is slightly taken aback.

"Oh," She pauses, unsure of how to proceed. "Actually, I'm from California. A small town, I'm sure you've never heard of it. Charming."

"Charming, California?" Mr. McKane frowns. "No, never been."

"Oh," Tara relaxes. "Pretty town. Anyways, I graduated from high school there, then went onto college at…" She leads them around the hospital, nodding along to their stories, sprinkling in stories of her own. They laugh together, discuss the death rate when it comes to childbirth, and fawn over the babies in the NICU.

"Do you have children of your own, Dr. Knowles?" Mrs. McKane asks, cooing at a young girl, born 6 weeks premature and now thriving.

"I like to think I have many." Tara musters up a smile. "All the babies that have came through here, I hope I've treated them as I would treat my own."

"That. That right there." Mrs. McKane declares. "That is exactly why we're going to build a new wing, Dr. Knowles. Doctors like you, who care this much about their patients? Truly, I couldn't ask for anything else."

"Thank you." Tara takes her hands and she grins at her, eyes sparkling.

"Write the check dear."

"Yes honey."

After Tara sees the couple out of the hospital and brings the check to the CEO, who pumps her hand and congratulates her, she wanders back to her office. She sits down, looking out over the skyline again. The sun is setting on another day. Tara knows she should be thrilled. Another day doing what she loves. Saving lives. Running a hospital.

But that doesn't stop her from going home to any empty house every night, alone, empty inside. She gathers her things up and walks to the elevator. Her mind wanders to Charming and she wonders what's going on there these days.

Then she shakes off such thoughts as the doors close.

* * *

 _John and Jax fixing the bike first time around_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, careful!" John laughs, then Jax sprints past him and into the garage. "You're going to fall. There's lots of stuff in here to bump your head on."

"I am careful!" Jax tells him, and as if to prove his point, gently sets the baby monitor on the top of a tool bin.

"Very nice." John nods approvingly. "If Tommy cries, you tell me right away, ok?"

"Yes." Jax nods quickly. "Cause mama isn't home to watch him?"

"Exactly." John ruffles his hair. "Your mother is off fighting the wicked witch of the west."

"Mom's fighting a witch?" Jax looks alarmed and John quickly backtracks.

"No son, that's just what she calls your grandmother."

"Oh." Jax visibly relaxes then turns his attention to the bike. Or at least, the skeleton of a bike. "What are we going to do?"

"Well, Jackson, grab the stool and get over here." John orders and Jax quickly does as told, pulling the stool over and clambering atop it, looking over the parts of the bike with interest. "Do you know what this is?"

"Motorcycle." Jax says, proud of his knowledge.

"Exactly." John opens the tool bin, pulling tools out. "It's a motorcycle son, but it's a lot of other things."

"It's a lot of stuff." Jax picks up a shiny piece of chrome to inspect it and John chuckles.

"That's the fun of it." He explains, taking the piece. "This is a giant puzzle Jax, and we're in charge of figuring out where we're going to put each piece. We're going to put the bike together, do you know why?"

"Because it's broken." Jax states, as if that should be obvious.

"Sure it is." John looks at the various pieces strewn around the table. "But it doesn't have to be forever. You can always fix something son, no matter how many pieces it's in. Just need patience, work, and knowledge. That's what I'm gonna teach you."

"To put it all back together?" Jax looks excited by the possibility.

"Yeah." John kisses his head, grabbing a wrench. "And at the end of it, you'll have a bike you built with your own two hands. You'll be proud of that, especially with a bike like this. It's a special bike, do you know why?"

"No." Jax eyes the frame.

"Because it's old. It comes from an era where they was built to last." John runs his hands over the engine. "You build this bike back up Jackson, you do it with love and care and you take the time to do it right, you know what you get? A bike that will be by your side, always. It'll be a beauty by the end of it. I'll ride it, you'll ride, your son will ride it."

"I'll ride it?" Jax is looking at the bike with a new light now, with the appropriate amount of awe and John chuckles.

"You will." He promises. "But first you have to learn how to build it and get a little bigger. Don't want to risk your mom killing me. Now come here, and bring the tools with you. We're going to learn their names first."

"Ok." Jax scrambles over and both father and son bend their heads down over the bike.

 **AN:** We're slowly inching towards what I feel like is doomsday, aka the season 6 finale and all of season 7... Hanging in there with me? Also, thank you to so many who reviewed about the Thomas story, I feel like there's something there but... We'll see?


	77. Season 6- Aon Rud Persanta

_Lucius's birth_

Nero is pacing, hands itching for something that will take away this feeling, like his chest is going to burst. He keeps moving because if he stops, the whole world is pressing down on him and he's not sure if he's strong enough to hold it up. He tries to forget everything, forget the world, but he can't.

16 days. That's how many days he has sober, like little bricks, trying to build a wall between him and his addiction. It's not even a month, barely half that. Not even three weeks, not even a fraction of how long he should be.

9 months. That's how long she's been pregnant, how long there's been a baby of his growing inside her. And he wasn't there for hardly any of it, only a fraction of what he should've been. But what could he do? He's an addict. One with 16 days of sobriety to his name, and a junkie baby mama giving birth.

Fuck, he's too old and too young to have a kid. Too old because he's grown up on the streets and he's lived a lifetime already, a lifetime of hardship and pain. He feels like he's already an old man. But too young because he's still too selfish to be responsible for another human. He can hardly keep himself and his crew alive, let alone a helpless infant.

His mind spinning, he wants to run from the hospital and his responsibilities. He wants to leave and never look back. But he promised himself long ago that he would never be like his father in any way. And this would brand him as his father's son.

"Are you Nero? Are you the father?" A nurse stops his pacing with a gentle touch to his elbow and he stops, facing her. His voice sounds distant to his own ears, far away.

"Yeah, I'm the father."

"Alright, follow me."

She leads him back to the nursery, determinedly not looking at the track marks that still litter his arms. He wishes he would've thought to put a long sleeve shirt on, but he'd been in a rush. She leads him to a tiny bassinet, surrounded by doctors. He has a vague notion that that can't be normal, but then one parts and he sees why.

There, on the baby's back, in a large bubble that looks like it's filled with pus. He stops dead in his tracks, looking at it, head tilted in bewilderment. The nurse is saying something, but he can't understand her, can't hear her.

"What's that on his back?" He demands loudly and the doctor detaches himself, walking over.

"Mr. Padilla, your son was born with spina bifida." He explains and Nero hears the whole sentence, but he gets stuck at the beginning.

"A son? I have a son?" He asks in disbelief. "It's a boy, I have a son?"

"Yes." The doctor manages a smile. "But unfortunately, due to his mother's drug usage during the pregnancy, he has spina bifida."

"What's that mean?" Nero demands and he watches the nurses and doctors exchange looks, his heart sinking.

All he can think about, as a nurse explains the lifetime of struggles his son will face, is that he should've been there. He should've been there to watch out for his son, to keep him safe. But he wasn't. He was being selfish. And now his boy will face a lifetime of consequences for his mistake.

So when he looks down at the small figure, now carefully covered in a blanket and cap, he carefully runs a finger down his smooth cheek, and promises himself one thing. He will never leave his son again.

* * *

 _Abel finding out Wendy's his real mom/Thomas finding out Wendy isn't_

"You're not my real mom." The words shock Wendy, even though they shouldn't. She nearly drops the jug of lemonade.

"Abel." She tries to keep the pain out of her voice, but he just stares defiantly back. "Abel Teller, don't."

"Why?" For an 8 year old, her son is smart as a whip. So much so that sometimes she wonders if he's right- maybe he's not her's. Maybe he really is Tara's.

"Because words hurt, remember?" That's the motto of the month, for their unit on bullying, and Wendy hopes that it will stop Abel from spiraling any further into his temper tantrum. Her hope, however, is futile.

"I want my iPad back." He demands, folding his arms. "You're not my real mom, you can't tell me what to do!"

"Yes I can." Her own anger is flaring up now and she knows she should reign it in. She knows now is not the time. She was going to wait until he was older. Until he understood it better. Not now, when he's still a child. "I am your mother Abel Brendan Teller and I have been since the day you were born!"

"No you're not!" Abel yells back and she slams her hand down on the table, startling him.

"I know you think Tara was your mother." She's trying to keep herself calm, but she can't. She can't handle her son choosing Tara over her. Not Abel. Not when she has, for the last three years, done everything in her power to raise him.

"She was." Abel's lip juts out, threatening to break into tears. "She was my mommy and then bad things had to happen!"

"Abel." Wendy kneels in front of him. "Abel, honey, what's really wrong? Why are you so angry?"

"Because you say that you're my mommy." Abel looks away from her, voice breaking. "And bad stuff happens to my mommy and daddy. Something bad is going to happen to you if you're my mommy."

"Oh sweetie." Her anger evaporates as quickly as it had came and she yanks him into a tight hug, rocking him back and forth. "Oh honey, oh baby, oh sweet boy. No, no, no."

"You're not my real mom." He whispers and Wendy sighs, picking him up. No more dancing around this. He needs to know. He needs clarity. He is indeed Jax's son.

"I want to explain something to you, ok?" She sits with him on the couch, cradling him close. "It's going to be a little confusing, so if you have any questions, promise me you'll make me stop and ask them, ok?"

"Ok." He sniffles.

"Ok," Wendy rocks him, to comfort herself as much as him. "Once upon a time, I had you in my belly and I loved you, very, very much, but I was very, very sick. So when you came out of my tummy, I knew I loved you more than anything but I had to go get better. So you were sent a mommy that loved you while I was gone."

"Mommy Tara." Abel says, looking down at his fingers.

"Yes." Wendy swallows the lump in her throat. "Yes, so you still got to have a mommy that could love you when you were a baby. And Daddy and Mommy Tara loved you so very much while I got better. And once I was better, I could come back and be your other mommy. And just because I came back, doesn't mean that your other mommy had to leave. You love all the goats on the farm, right?"

"Yeah." Abel nods in understanding.

"Well that's what moms are like. We all get to love you. But I know a lot of things happened before but honey, none of that is ever going to happen again." She holds him close and kisses his head. "I am never, ever going to leave you."

"I'm sorry." He whispers. "I was scared."

"I know." Wendy rocks him back and forth. "But I'm not leaving you baby, never again."

(-)

"Give it back!" Thomas shouts, stomping his feet. "Abel, give it back."

"No, it's mine." Abel keeps kicking his feet so that Thomas can't get close to him and the gaming device he holds.

"No, it's mine!" Thomas is close to tears, but he's holding them back, trying to remain tough in the face of his big brother. "Mom got it for me!"

"Mom got it for both of us." Abel doesn't even look up.

"It's mine!" Tears are threatening now, hot and heavy, as his anger rises. "Abel! It's mine! You big fat meany poopy head, give it back!"

"Why?" Abel looks at him. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I'll tell Nero." Thomas threatens and Abel rolls his eyes, going back to his game.

"He doesn't care. It's my game, you can use it later."

"I had it first!"

"So?"

"I hate you! You're the worst big brother ever!" Thomas shouts, tears falling now. "You're a stupid butt and I wish you weren't even my big brother!"

"Well, I'm not anyways." Abel says nastily and Thomas stops, looking at him in confusion. "Because my mom isn't your mom anyways. Your mom is dead."

"Mom is dead?" Thomas wails and goes sprinting for the kitchen. "Nero! Nero, Nero!"

"Whoa, little man." Nero turns around from where he's making lunch. "What's the rush?"

"Abel… Said… My… Mom… Is… Dead!" He gasps between sobs.

"What?" Nero demands, shocked. "Abel! Abel Teller, you get your butt down here, now!" Thomas stops his sobbing, a little shocked. He's never heard Nero yell like this before. Abel slinks down the stairs, game dangling from his hand, looking wary.

"What?"

"What did you tell your brother?" Nero demands and Thomas avoids Abel's eyes, knowing that he's gotten his brother in serious trouble.

"I told him the truth." Abel juts his chin out defiantly. "My mom isn't his mom, cause his mom is dead."

"Wow." Nero drags a hand over his face. "Wow. Go to your room. Now. Go. Don't argue. Leave the game. I'll be in later to talk to you."

"But—" Abel attempts to protest, but Nero's look quells that and he sulks back up the stairs.

"Come here Tommy." Nero encourages, sitting down at the kitchen table. Thomas climbs into his lap, a little hesitation. "Here, wipe your face off mi hijo. No more tears. Your mother is fine. Wendy is ok. Do you want to call her?"

"Why'd Abel say she isn't my mom?" He blurts out.

"Because," Nero sighs heavily. "We can have different kinds of mothers, and Abel doesn't get that."

"But my mom is my mom." Thomas insists adamantly, fiddling with the long rosary Nero wears around his neck.

"Yeah, she is." He reassures him. "But you're pretty little, and you probably don't remember a lot of stuff. Do you remember when you were a little, tiny baby?"

"No." Thomas says, after a moment of thought.

"Yeah, but see, Abel was bigger, so he does. When you were little- littler than you are now- you had a mommy who loved you. She carried you in her tummy, like Wendy carried Abel. But when you were still really little, the angels had to come and take her away."

"The angels?" Thomas plays with the cross. "Like the ones they talk about when we go to church?"

"Yeah, those ones. See, your first mom, Tara, was so pretty and kind and good that they decided she needed to be an angel too. So they came and got her." He tries to put a happy spin on it, as much for Thomas as himself. He cannot bear to think of the bloodshed of that night.

"But why?" Thomas doesn't seem sad about it, yet, but Nero knows that will come. It's hard to explain murder to a 7 year old.

"Because one day, you'll be an angel too. And Wendy was there to watch over you."

"Will the angels come for me? Or you?" Thomas looks up, worried. "Will they take away Abel? I know I said mean things but I don't want him to go."

"One day, when you're really, really big." Nero tries to reassure him. "When you're much, much older, then the angels will come."

"So if I'm really good, they'll come get me now?" Thomas asks and Nero holds him close.

"No, little man. Your mom, she was special. She was all kinds of special. But how about you go see what Lucius is doing, yeah? See if he's got a movie on. I'll call you guys when it's time for lunch."

"Ok." A little slowly, Thomas gets down and heads for the living room. Nero sighs and looks at the stairs. Wendy won't be home for another 3 hours, and he's tempted to leave Abel in his room for the whole time.

* * *

 _"We get one shot at loving and raising our kids."_

"Abel!" Willow bellows and he groans, slipping his shoes off. Not even a second in the door and his wife is already yelling at him. "Abel, come here, now!"

"What?" He's a little alarmed now, not bothering to pull of his gun and knife he wears around his belt. He goes flying towards the stairs, skidding out on the hardwood floor in his socks, nearly missing the stairs. He takes them three at a time, bursting into the bathroom.

"So," Willow looks up at him from where she's slumped on the floor. "It wasn't food poisoning."

"What?" His heart racing, brain trying to catch up, panic still coursing through his veins, he can't comprehend what Willow's clutching in her hand until she thrusts it at him.

"Look." She insists and he stares down at it, willing his eyes to focus.

"You scared the shit out of me, I thought you were— Wait." He finally takes in the shape of the object- long and thin, with a tiny screen in the center. "Is this a pregnancy test?"

"Did you not know what one looked like?" Willow questions, tilting her head slightly.

"Wait." His mind is racing again, as he squints at the screen. "Does that say— Does it say— Pregnant?"

"I was going to tell you in a cute way." Willow slumps against the tub. "But I took the test and had a panic attack and I just… I need you to know. I need someone to freak out with. I need you."

"Pregnant?" He repeats. "Pregnant? As in like, baby, in your stomach? My baby? In there? A baby?"

"Ok, what do you think pregnancy means?" Willow demands and Abel shrugs helplessly, staring at the test. A long silence passes before Willow says, just a little timidly, "Please say something. Yell. Scream. Cry. Shout. Good or bad, I don't care. But… I need to know how you feel about this."

"Oh, Wills." He reaches down and scoops her up, holding her as close as he can. "Willow, oh Willow, Jesus, I'm… I'm…"

"I know." Tears are gathering in Willow's eyes and she clings to him. "I know, I told you, I completely freaked out earlier. I didn't know what to feel. I still don't, I just needed you."

"I don't know how to be a dad." He blurts out suddenly. "I don't know how to do it, I never had a dad. I mean, I had Nero, but he was more like an uncle than a dad, I mean, and my mom never remarried, she hardly let the men she dated meet us. Fuck, how do you parent a kid? I can't be a dad Wills, I don't know how. I don't know how."

"And I don't know how to be a mom." Willow leans forward and presses their heads together. "I have no clue babe. You know my mom, you know my childhood was a little fucked up. But Abel, here's the thing."

"What?" He whispers and she presses a soft kiss to his lips.

"Babe, it doesn't matter if neither of us has any idea of what we're doing. Because we can figure it out as we can go. Together."

And one year later, Abel holds his newborn daughter in the crook of his arm, making her a bottle, cooing softly to her, swaying in the kitchen. Willow is asleep on the couch, snoozing amidst the pillows while a movie plays on the TV.

He grins down at his daughter- their daughter- and how she sleeps. Deeply, comfortably, oblivious to the whole world out there, trusting that her daddy will stand between her and anything that tries to touch. And Abel knows, deep in his heart, that he would. He has his chance to be a father, to teach himself this, and he sure as hell isn't going to give it up.

* * *

 _"We took a vote." Clay knows he's going to die, Jax does what he'd do_

"We took a vote." The way Jax says it confirms the sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew something was strange, wrong, when the club broke him out, not the Irish. He didn't think much of it. Still thought Jax was going to let him walk. He should've known.

He won't leave this hanger alive. There was never any Belfast, or gun running. There was never any Gemma, even if that had been a long shot in hell of being real. But he'd held onto hope. A bright ball of hope in his chest, to get him through prison and the beatings and the mind numbing solitary cell.

Now though, now there's no doubt about it. He can see the plan, clear as day. A good plan too, because it's exactly what he would've done, had he been placed in this position. Use bad blood, strike two birds with one stones, leave it messy, and walk away with clean hands that are still stained with blood.

He's almost proud, in these last moments of his life. He'd never wanted to be a father. His name doesn't get carried on, passed down to a new generation. But here, in this moment, he knows he's left a legacy of sorts. Because Jax has learned from him, learned well enough that he can turn the tables on him.

He'll have that at least. He did something for someone then. Jax did learn something after all. And what better way to die, than knowing that in some sick way, he did raise a son to be just a little, tiny fraction like himself. Jax can hate that part of him all he wants, but it's there.

He doesn't think about his life. He doesn't replay it over again, watching his miserable childhood, his aimless years, finding the club, the years afterwards, the murder of his best friend and the seducing of his wife, or even the presidency that would come to define him.

No, he picks one memory, and he holds tightly to that. It's him and Gemma, the first year after they'd married. They'd decided to go to Sturgis. He'd probably had dealings, but it didn't matter then. He had the presidents patch, the queen on his arm, and a brand new bike.

He remembers a moment when they were driving through the mountains, Gemma pressed against her back, hands on his thighs, laughing and nibbling on his ear. He'd been grinning, ear to ear, watching the spectacular view, a line of men behind him. Young. Strong. Whole.

He tries to keep that feeling in his chest, remember everything about that moment. The air, chilly enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. The familiar rumble of the bike below him. The bandana, tight to his forehead. He clings to this moment, to this memory, and recalls happiness. Peace. Serenity.

In his last second of life, Clay Morrow doesn't wonder what's ahead. He just hangs tight to his past, and let's his world go black.

* * *

 _Tara, Nero, Gemma on Clay's death_

Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

Did he just— Did Clay just— Jax just— What the fuck?

Clay. Dead. Gone. I'm… Not happy. No. You cannot be happy a man is dead. You are a doctor, a healer. You are better than all this, remember? Better than this. You can't be happy when your husband murders someone in front of you.

Not even if he is the one who ruined my life. My career. My future. My chance at any happiness ever again. It's gone, because of him. Who knows, if my hand had never been mangled, maybe I could've stayed in Charming, with Jax and our sons. Maybe I would've been happy.

Not even if he is the one who ruined the man I love. Taught him to be a killer. Dragged him so deep into this club shit that he can never find a way out. He took the sweet boy I loved and made him into a monster.

But no. I'm not happy he's dead. He was Jax's stepfather. He loved my boys, in a deep twisted way. He murdered so many people. Donna. Sweet Donna. And Piney, for keeping my secret. And JT, Jax's father. How many others that I don't even know about?

He was a murderer. I can't deny that. And I hated him. But he's another body count of Jax's list. Did he do it for me? Does he keep justifying murder because he thinks, in some twisted way, it'll keep me safe? That I appreciate it?

I don't. I'm better than all this. I'm not glad a man is dead, that my husband murdered him. But I'm sure as hell not going to weep.

(-)

Oh shit. Jax. Jax, did you just… Kill him? In cold blood? Break him out of jail just to kill him? Jesus Jax. Who are you anymore?

You were a good kid once. Pure, good heart, wanting to make a difference. Where's that go? How'd we get here? This isn't what you wanted. This isn't what you should be doing to get it.

He deserved to die, man, I get that. Fuck, I'm almost glad. He beat the shit out of Gemma, and that's unforgivable, it really is. But this ain't how he should've gone out. You gave him false hope Jax and that was the cruelest part of it.

I've seen a lot of OGs go out, it's the life, it's the way it is. But this? Son killing father? Jax, you even know what you're doing anymore? You even understand what's happening, what you're doing?

I know you think it's right. I know you think it's needed. But Jax, you're not gonna come back from this. Killing Clay? It's wrong. It ain't right. This whole thing, it ain't right. You wanted out and this is only going to hold you tighter in.

He wasn't a good man. Nah, I'm glad he's gone. Glad for me. Glad that he can't hurt Gemma any more. Hope that she finds peace now and closure. But to see him murdered, brutally, in front of me, by her son?

I wasn't ready for that shit.

(-)

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Clay.

Oh, Jackson. Jax. Oh. Oh my god. Did he— he just— Clay— and he— no.

No. This can't be happening. This can't be real. This is… This is… No. Jesus. Jesus Christ. How? How?

Jax. Oh, you planned this. My son. My son, my boy, my child… I brought you here. I did this, didn't I? It's because of me.

Another husband dead, because of me. John. Clay. All the dead bodies around me, the blood on the walls, on the roads, on my hands…

I loved him. Oh, how I loved him. Clay. My love. My strong man, my husband. He's gone. He's never coming back. He'll never say my name again, never give me that damned smile, never hold me close. I'll never look into those eyes again. I'll never feel his touch again.

He's gone.

He can't hurt me anymore.

He can't love me anymore.

You kill everything you love, Gemma. You touch something and it dies. Rose was always right. Undeserving of love. Always and forever.

How long until Nero? How long until he's killed for the sin of loving you? You should run, and never look back. Because you are a poison to everyone in your life and you are utterly selfish for staying.

Oh Clay. Oh, god. It shouldn't have been like this.

The son killing the father who killed his father.

 **AN:** Another episode closer... Tell me which story was your favorite?


	78. Season 6- You are my Sunshine

_"Unfortunately, I inherited it."_

Growing up, Jax always knew he was a little different from his classmates at school. It was pretty simple- no one else had a mom who had tattoos. No one else had a dad who drove a motorcycle. No one else knew the difference from whiskey and vodka.

As he got older, the differences became starker. They would talk about wanting to ballerinas or firefighters, Jax knew he wanted to be a mechanic. They watched cartoons, Jax spent his days on a bike. They wished after the newest games and toys, Jax just wanted a motorcycle.

And when they got older, they talked about future plans. Schools, jobs, marriages, buying houses. They waffled between careers and education, fretting over every decision. And then there was Jax, with his higher sense of purpose, always knowing what he'd do.

The chair at the head of a wooden table. The gavel, resting to his left. The reaper, behind and in front of him. The kutte to rest of his back like a crown would rest on his head. A clubhouse instead of a castle.

He's always known that this will be his place. He's never questioned it, not even when Tara tried to convince him otherwise. He's always known his place. It's on a wood and leather throne, above a square table.

He's always known the weight of the world on his shoulders, of what his last name means. His mother has insured that, since the day he was born. He will not inherit wealth or houses.

He will get a motorcycle club and the expectations of him sitting at the head of it. He'll get to make the hard choices, the sacrifices, and more. He'll suffer, he'll rejoice, he'll weep, he'll laugh. He's known this. Always has.

And he looks back, with sadness and a little fondness, at the little boy he once was, who only thought about the bike and the table, and what it would mean to him.

* * *

 _Tig's vain about his hair_

He keeps his head down, ducking into a back alley. His bike is parked at the bar two blocks down, but Tig's stealthily making his way through the streets, leather jacket replacing his kutte. He keeps his head on a swivel, making sure no one is tailing him.

When he reaches the end of the alley, he makes a sharp left, hugging the sides of the buildings as he walks down a busier street. It's late, but still cars stream past. He avoids the lights of all, before finally reaching his destination.

It's a nondescript building, with brick and a big bay window. The curtains are drawn tight, not letting a sliver of light out. There's no indication that the building is open for any purpose, but when Tig tries the handle, he finds it unlocked.

He walks in, casting one last look over his shoulder as if to check that no one has seen his entrance. Reassured that he seems to have made it here unseen, he relaxing and shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on a hook before rounding the corner.

"Oh, Alexander!" A loud voice booms and a tall, wide set man walks out from behind the counter. "There you are!"

"Hey Brit." He grins at the man, accepting his hug with ease. "How you doing man?"

"Oh good." Brit waves a hand as he leads Tig deeper into the room, to a chair in the back. "Good, can't complain. How's my favorite little biker?"

"Pretty beat." Tig admits and Brit pats his shoulder sympathetically.

"Well, sit back and let Brit take care of you, ok?" He says soothingly and Tig sits, relaxing.

"Just take care of the grey and the dead ends." He mutters, as water starts running. "Don't take too much off my curls."

"Boy, I know." Brit sounds only mildly offended. "That's why you drive an hour and a half to see the best hair stylist in Cali, ain't it?"

"Sure, and cause if I did this in Charming, I'd never live it down." Tig reminds him and Brit snorts, reclining Tig so that he can spray his head.

"Shut your mouth and relax now."

Tig closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of Brit's fingers scrubbing his scalp, the smell of the sandalwood shampoo he uses, the warm water running down his neck. This is his guilty pleasure and he knows he'd get endless amounts of shit for it Charming.

But there's nothing Tig loves more than his hair.

He and Brit chat as Brit touches up his roots. All the guys at the club, and most crow eaters as well, comment on how dark his hair is, how thick and curly it is. What they don't know is how hard he works to maintain it, including his bi-monthly trips to see Brit.

He reads a magazine as Brit chatters on about the last trip he took to Venice, content to be in a place where he can relax, where no one is yelling or fighting or pulling guns. He sits, and enjoys the peace.

When the color is finally done and Brit has blow-dried him, Tig inspects himself carefully in the mirror. Sure, he's probably being vain. Sure, he's using his hair to appear younger and more vibrant.

But he's got a head full of thick, dark curls, and he loves it. So he tips Brit a hefty amount, makes his next appointment in 6 weeks, and then ducks out of the hair salon and heads back towards the bar.

* * *

 _Gemma as a young mom_

She takes a deep breath, trying to smooth her hair down. Something is dried there, sticky and stiff. Vomit? Food? Something else? She no longer knows. She's covered in fluids of all kinds, and Jax is screaming in his high chair, screaming like the world is about to end.

Gemma knows it's because he's teething. She knows it's because he's in pain. She knows he's not trying to drive her crazy intentionally. She knows he is usually a good, sweet, kind, happy baby. But right now, he's a demon and she wants to run.

She takes him out of the high chair, trying to quiet him with bouncing with she gets the frozen pacifier from the freezer. He's wailing in her ear now, and they're both covered in apple sauce, but she's beyond caring.

"There you go, there you go." She croons, laying him down on the floor. "There you go little man. Better?"

He's still whimpering, but he sucks on the pacifier and is mostly quiet. She slumps against the couch, covering her face with her hands and trying to resist the urge to cry. With a deep breath, she gets up and looks in the mirror.

She looks like hell. Dark hair matted to her head, deep circles under her eyes, skin dull. Her nails are unpainted and broken, and she's wearing a ratty tee-shirt of John's with baggy sweatpants. The stubborn baby weight she's been trying to lose for the last 8 months yet remains.

"Ok, Jackson." She decides, folding her arms. "Something needs to be done."

She puts him in his chair, stringing toys above it to keep him entertained. Then she turns the shower up as hot as it can go, stepping inside, leaving the curtain open so she can watch Jax at all times.

She shampoos her hair, then deep conditions it. She drags her razor up her legs, carefully navigating it to avoid cuts. She scrubs her body until it's red, and then steps out and grabs the fluffiest towel she owns.

Jax plays in his seat while she paints her nails and her hair dries. She teases it with hairspray, then thickly lines her eyes and lips with dark black and deep red. Jax lays on the bed while she picks out tight jeans, a top that holds her stomach in, and a bra that pushes her tits up as high as they can go.

"How do I look, little man?" She asks, inspecting herself in the mirror. Her sky high boots make walking a little interesting, but she's wiling to sacrifice. "Can you be good for mommy? She needs you to be really, really good."

Jax babbles nonsense in the car on the way to the clubhouse. Gemma inspects him in the review mirror, while also touching up her lashes and lips. When she pulls into the clubhouse, she takes a deep breath, the squares her shoulders, grabs Jax, and strides in.

"Hey Gemma, hey Jackson." John seems surprised but happy that they've come. "Didn't expect a visit from you today."

"We missed ya." Gemma throws him a wink as the crow eaters come to fawn over Jax. "Thought maybe if mommy and daddy got some free daycare, they could play."

"In a little bit." John's eyes sparkle as he kisses her cheek. "I've got a call, but afterwards I'll book the dorm room suite for us."

"Ok baby." Gemma kisses his cheek. "Love you."

"Love you two." He kisses Jax's head and disappears into the chapel.

"Gemma, you look so amazing." Luann says, eyeing her enviously. "Hardly look like you had a baby."

"It's what happens when you have kids young." Another crow eater informs them, grabbing drinks. "You bounce back a hell of a lot quicker at 16 than you do at 36, let me tell you."

"I mean, it's mostly from breastfeeding." Gemma says, bouncing Jax slightly. "I haven't work out at all, I just want to spend every second with him."

"So lucky." A few crow eaters mummer and Gemma smiles, glad to be back in the element where she shines.

* * *

 _"She loves Teller and she grew up without a father."_

Willow takes a deep breath. She can't cry, not here, not now. So she stays where she is, crouching in a corner, trying to breathe. She can hear the muted noise of people arguing behind the locked door, but she makes no move to get up. Until someone knocks.

"Willow, you have to let us in."

"No." She shouts back, feeling like a sulking teenager once again. She's barely in her twenties, so it feels rather fitting.

"Fine!" She recognizes Brooke's voice and curses. She knows exactly what will happen next. After some scrapping and cursing, the door swings open and Brooke tosses a bent bobby pin in the trash. Willow stares down Brooke, her mother, Jordan, and Madelyn, her best friend from college.

"You're going to get your dress dirty." Brooke rushes to her side, pulling her up.

"I'm fine." Willow mutters, letting Brooke sit her on the chair.

"You're not fine." Lyla eyes her critically while Madelyn and Jordan fall back, watching. "I can see it in your eyes."

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it, can I?" Willow snaps at her and Lyla looks ready to say something, but quiets as Brooke fusses over Willow's hair.

"It's just a little bump in the road." Brooke assures her. "I ever tell you about my wedding? Complete disaster. Your mother, oh man, she had to drive 45 miles just to…"

Brooke chatters on the fill the silence as she helps Willow adjust her veil and jewelry, fawning over the ring once more. Willow stays quiet, refusing to say anything, and the rest of the room is quiet as well. No one wants to approach the reason for the gloom.

"We're going to go check on the flowers, make sure they aren't wilting." Lyla informs her, when Brooke is finally done.

"Ok." Willow says tonelessly.

"I'll go make calls." Jordan offers. "See if Ellie's had any luck." Willow doesn't respond, just flashes her the thumbs up.

"Hey." Madelyn says carefully, approaching her. "You… Ok?"

"Yeah." Willow says quietly. "i'm just fine."

"You don't seem fine." Careful not to dirty the robins egg blue dress she's wearing, Madelyn kneels in front of her. "It's your wedding day and you seem pretty upset."

"Well, I sure as hell wish that everyone would stop pretending and calling it my wedding day. I'm pretty sure you have to have a wedding in order to have it be that and it doesn't seem to be happening." Willow manages some fire and Madelyn's mouth twists grimly.

"Wills, I have to ask you something." She says slowly and Willow chuckles humorlessly.

"Let me guess. Why him. Why this. How can I be getting married to a man who can't even make it to our wedding without being arrested?"

"Yeah, kinda." Madelyn admits and Willow sighs heavily, stopping to take stock of her emotions for the first time since this all began. Since she got the call that the club had been arrested. Since she'd realized Abel wasn't going to make the ceremony. Since she'd locked herself in the bedroom.

"I don't know." She admits quietly. She's angry sure, furious with Abel. Furious with Tig and Chibs and Happy and Rat and whoever orchestrated this whole stupid thing. But she's also sad, heartbroken that her day, the one day that she expected to be sunshine and rainbows, seems to be filled with nothing but rain. She's tired, tired of wondering when the next bad thing is going to happen. And she's numb, numb to it all anymore, because she can't fight it any more.

"Willow, maybe this is a sign. Maybe you should step back and think about marriage." Madelyn encourages and Willow pauses, looking at the picture she'd brought with her to look at while she got ready.

It's her and Abel, in the black hills. They'd gone to Sturgis, done sightseeing. It had been two weeks of them on the back of bike, exploring the midwest. She'd felt free, happy, blissed out. In the photo, she's kicked back on the bike, wearing short shorts and a crop top, biker boots kicked up on the handlebars of his bike, laughing. Abel stands behind her, eyes shining, as if he's thinking about how lucky he is to have such a beautiful girl.

"No." Willow says faintly, as if from far away. "No, I'm marrying Abel today. I'm marrying him now and forever and I'll love him until the end of time. This is my life Madelyn, I know exactly what I'm doing. And I know how much I love him. He'll be here and when he is, we're getting married." She ends with her voice strong, firm.

"That's good." Ellie says from the doorway, grinning. "Because he just walked in. You ready?"

"Yes." Willow grabs her bouquet. "Yes, I'm ready."

"Are you sure?" Madelyn asks, hanging back and Willow squares her shoulders.

"Yes, I'm ready."

When she walks down the aisle, she ignores the fact that Tig, to her left, is sporting a nasty cut above his eyes. And she pretends not to notice that Chibs, to her right, limps. She keeps her eyes locked on Abel's bright blues, as he grins and turns back to her brothers, gesturing to her as if to say, 'Isn't she beautiful?'

She's going to become Willow Teller today and she knows she's never going to leave him or their life.

* * *

 _Happy in captivity_

"Hey." He yells at the guard at his door. "Hey, come here, I gotta piss."

"You just went." He says, without looking back. "You don't have to go again."

"Yeah I do." Happy whines. "Look man, the thing is, I got a bladder the size of a peanut. Always have. Fuck, when I was a kid, my mama use to smack me cause we'd have to pull over so I could piss ten times on a five minute drive."

"Hold it." The guard orders through gritted teeth.

"I can't." Happy insists. "I'll fucking piss myself, right here. Right now. You gonna test me?"

"You piss yourself, I ain't cleaning it up." The guard declares.

"That's fine." Happy shrugs. "But when it reeks in here man, ain't my problem."

"Listen, you fuckhead, you—" The guard turns and then looks at him in horror. "Holy shit, did you fucking piss yourself?"

"Told you." Happy says casually, as if the smell of urine isn't overtaking the room and there isn't a large, dark spot on the front of his pants.

"What the fuck?" The guard demands, bewildered, before disappearing. Seconds later, he returns with the man that Happy has decided is the point man for this whole operation. Happy likes him, because he's got a better sense of humor than the rest of the goons.

"What the fuck man?" He questions and Happy shrugs.

"Man, I had to piss."

"Why the fuck didn't you take him to the bathroom then?" He demands of the guard, who looks sheepish.

"I thought he might try to escape." He mutters.

"You gonna try to fucking escape?" He demands of Happy.

"Hell no man, why'd I wanna leave? You guys feed me the best chinese shit." He grins. "And I don't pay."

"Let him get cleaned up." The leader orders the guard. "And for fuck's sake, next time he says he's gotta piss, let him piss. Man's eaten $400 worth of food, if he escapes I won't be too cut up about it."

"Hey, speaking of that." Happy says, as the guard goes to unlock his handcuffs. "What we ordering tonight?"

"I got you noodles, extra side of rice, chicken dumpling soup, 12 pork gyoza, and a bunch of orange chicken." The leader sighs.

"You guys are the best." Happy declares, as he's marched to the bathroom.

"And give him a spare set of clothes so you can wash his other ones!"

"You're living a better life as a prisoner than I do as a free man." His guard grumbles.

"It's the life." Happy says seriously.

 **AN:** Next update of the dreaded chapter will be Sunday, due to travel! Let me know which was your favorite and why in a review?


	79. Season 6- A Mother's Work

_Abel writing at Jax's grave_

He guides his bike down the now familiar path, it's roar magnified by the utter silence of the empty cemetery. It's still early enough in the morning that the heat isn't quite humming yet, but it will. He thinks about the day tiredly, wondering how hot the shop will be today.

He parks in his customary spot, looking out of the rows of headstones. On the far side, he sees an empty plot with a fresh mound of dirt. He gives a silent thought to the family and then strides through the dry grass towards the headstone he seeks. Jax Teller.

He sits down against it heavily, reaching inside his kutte and pulling out his notepad. He flips it open, smiling at some of it's content. Between his scribbling, Willow often leaves him notes to find. He reads the last one and with a smile, moves to a clean page.

 _'I write to clear my head, but more and more these days it seems like when I write, I leave feeling more conflicted and confused. This was once my way to sort my thoughts, to put them from my mind onto paper and offer myself a clear and fair judgement of them._

 _But I've begun to doubt myself. Perhaps it's my role as a new father, a husband, as a VP. Perhaps it's because as I move closer to the gavel, I doubt every step that I take. Is this the outcome of power? The fear and doubt? The utter conviction that I am doing this wrong? Is this how all leaders feel? Did my father write this words?_

 _I try to reassure myself. I remember all the reasons I came to Charming. All I have to do is look around and I'm reminded of the reasons why I stay. My club is strong, steady. My family is whole. I belong. Yet, I worry. I have a rambling heart it seems, and feet that can't stay still._

 _I think I understand Thomas a little better now. His tendency to run, even in the best of times. Maybe it's because we were taken from our home so young. Maybe it's because we're scared to put down roots ever again. Maybe it's because we really don't know how._

 _This is my life. I would not change it for the world. And I would sooner lose my life than leave my family. But my heart feels bound and I feel like I need to fling it open, so that it can beat unhindered._

 _Maybe this is a symptom of getting older but none the wiser. Maybe it's responsibilities weighing down on me and more and more I think about the boy I was without them. A critical point is coming soon, I can feel it. One that will shape me as a man. Either I am going to shatter under these expectations. Or I am going to rise to them in a way that would make my father proud.'_

Flipping the notebook shut, he observes that the heat has risen ten degrees and resists the urge to groan. Summer and it's oppressing heat has never been his favorite. But, he thinks brightly, he could take the family swimming after work. Resolving to do just that, he bends and drops a kiss on his father's headstone, before heading back into Charming to start his day.

* * *

 _That trip to the beach_

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" Jax and Thomas chorus and Gemma resists the urge to smack her head against the steering wheel.

"No." She says patiently, reminding herself that she's a single mom and she's doing the best she can.

"Why not?" Jax asks and Thomas parrots him.

"Why not? Why not? Why not?"

"Next boy to ask that question is going to sit in the car the entire time we're on the beach." Gemma declares and there's a long pause as both boys debate how seriously to take this threat. Apparently, they take it seriously enough that they go quiet.

When she finally pulls up to the beach, she issues a warning to not get into the water until she's there to watch them. It goes unheeded, as both boys sprint for the water, whooping. Gemma grabs towels and the large bag packed with their lunches, before following them onto the hot sand.

"Can we go in now?" Thomas yells, he and Jax already knee deep in the surf. Gemma makes a big show out of spreading a beach towel out, sitting on it and adjusting her sunglasses. The boys squirm with anticipation until finally she's settled in.

"Be careful!" She calls and with a shout, Jax dives below the incoming wave. Thomas follows at a little slower pace, wading his way to where Jax is, shouting as waves crash down on them.

"Here," Jax offers his hands to Thomas. "Here, hold my hands and I'll touch." Thomas placed his hands in Jax's and they go further into the ocean, shouting with joy when they're buffeted by the waves.

After swimming, careful to never get too deep, they splash out of the water and run back to the spot where Gemma sits, flipping through a book slowly but with her eyes firmly fixed on them.

"We're hungry." Thomas declares and Gemma pulls snacks from the bag, offering them both a bag of chips. They eagerly tear in, fighting over taking a handful from the other. They settle down to much on their snacks happily, before Thomas begs and wrangles Jax into making a sand castle with him.

Gemma watches both of them happily, as they sit in the sand. Jax is directing Thomas to get buckets of wet sand, placing them where they can be shaped in towers and buildings. Thomas will occasionally come back with oddly shaped sticks or sea shells, carefully stockpiling them for decoration later.

After awhile, one of them will overheat slightly and run crashing into the waves, sinking under and rising again before Gemma can panic about what's going on. They're too busy with their castle to eat lunch, and only once it's complete do they accept the sandwiches Gemma doles out.

"It's very nice boys." Gemma says, inspecting it as Thomas and Jax split dessert. It's easy to see where Jax built- neat walls, tightly packed towers, evenly spaced sticks for extra protection. It's also easy to see Thomas's influence, with haphazard shells to decorate walls and oddly shaped structures he declares to be people, horses, and cows.

"Thanks." Thomas says happily. "Jax, do you think it's gonna last till tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah." Jax says easily. "Yeah, everyone that come's to the beach is gonna admire it."

"Are we going to come back tomorrow?" Thomas asks, looking at Gemma with wide eyes.

"No baby." Gemma is honest with him. "Mommy has to go back to work. But did you have fun today?"

"Yes." Thomas flops back, his thin chest still rising and falling quickly after his latest jaunt into the waves. "Today has been the best day ever."

"Good." Gemma leans down and kisses his head. "Go over here with your brother and I'll take your picture. Then when your daddy comes home, we can tell him all about our day on the beach, how's that sound?"

"Good." Jax helps Thomas scramble up and they sling their arms around each other. Gemma can't help but beam as she snaps the picture. Her sandy haired, blue eyed boys, glistening with sea salt and the sun. As they head to the waves, protesting her orders to clean up their mess, she thinks that this is true happiness.

* * *

 _John's funeral versus Clay's_

 **Unser is the only person to watch Clay's body as it's lowered into the ground, in a simple wooden casket, with a headstone that only bares his name and prison ID number.**

Jax stands on a chair in the corner of the room, looking out across the clubhouse. This is only the private visitation and yet the space is packed, so much so that people can barely mill about, holding drinks. His father's closed casket, a massive thing of black wood and ornate silver features, with a reaper carved in the top, sits in the chapel. Jax refuses to go near it.

Instead, he focuses on counting the heads of people, looking at their faces and trying to identify who is who. It's an odd bunch. There are the crow eaters and women of the club, weaving through the crowd, grabbing empties and plates, getting drink orders and greeting the newcomers still yet filtering in.

There's bikers, from all charters. Jax spots Nevada, Washington, New York, Illinois, South Dakota, on and on, the states near and far. There's grizzled old men and fresh faced prospects, all of them coming to pay respect to the man that brought them here.

There's men in military dress, most of them huddled with Piney, talking quietly with their heads bent around strong, dark liquor. Jax looks for his best friend and finds Opie opposite him, helping Gemma.

There's respectable businessmen of Charming, dressed in dark suits and eyeing their surroundings with an air of distrust. But they've come to pay respects to John Teller, who built Charming alongside them, whether they like it or not.

Piney finally calls them all to attention, his face weary. After a couple tries, the din finally dies down and they turn, as one, towards the bar, where he stands with a solemn face.

"Thank you all for coming today. I'm not a man of many words and I don't intend to be today. If you're here, it's because you knew John Teller. And because you knew him, you're mourning a man who changed your life. So drink to JT with me." He raises his glass. "He will never be forgotten."

"Amen." They chorus and if Jax wasn't so numb with tears already, he'd fear more being shed. He stays where he is, until it's finally time to carry the body from the clubhouse to where JT will be laid to rest. Jax stays where he is, until Clay finally finds him.

"Jackson." He says quietly and Jax looks up at him, exhausted. "Come on."

He follows Clay through to where the casket sits. He doesn't need to look to know who the pallbearers will be. He takes his spot at the front, on the righthand side, Piney across from him, Clay behind him.

They lift the casket up and the crowd of people parts like water in front of them, clearing the path through the clubhouse and to the waiting hearse. They walk slowly, and occasionally a hand will reach out, touching the casket one last time. At the door, they pause for Gemma.

Straight as a statue and clad in all black, her expression remains stoic as she bestows one final kiss to her husband. Then she stands aside and John leaves the clubhouse for the last time.

When the hearse pulls out, Jax rides in the car beside his mother. In front of him, for miles, as far as he can see, are bikes. Hundreds of them. Traffic in Charming comes to a complete stand still, but it doesn't matter. People flock from their homes and businesses, standing in the street. Whether they're there to see the commotion of the bikes or because they too are saying goodbye to JT doesn't matter.

The king is dead. Long live the king.

When they get to the cemetery, Jax looks across a sea of neat white tombstones. His father will be taken there, he's sure. But Jax can't see it. Not yet. He doesn't want to see his father's name, the dates, the marker of his service, the reaper for his club. Jax knows what it will look like but he can't see it and make it real yet.

So instead he disappears. He's not missed in the mass of people come to say goodbye. The funeral is grand, but Jax doesn't see any of it.

* * *

 _"Please don't… hurt me… in front of the kids." Jax seeing himself through Tara's eyes_

The realization hits him harder than any punch or bullet could. His breath is stolen away and his mind goes blank with absolute confusion, then understanding, then horror. He feels the urge to be sick.

Tara, his beautiful, strong, wonderful Tara, the mother of his boys, is quivering in front of him, eyes downcast. She's thin from the stress of these past weeks, from being on the run and constantly fearing what will happen. Her shoulders are slumped, resigned to her fate.

She thinks he's going to kill her. In front of their boys. She thinks he's going to beat her bloody, just like Clay did to his own mother. She thinks the last memory her sons have of her will be watching their father murder their mother. She's scared of this, but she accepts it as the only option.

The only outcome she can think of is him raising a hand to her. Because she's trying to protect their boys. Because she's trying to protect his sons in a way that he never did. Because she wants to be better for them.

Suddenly, he understands. No longer does she see the man that loves her more than anything. Who cherishes her. Who adores her. Who spoils her. Who protects her.

She sees the murderer he is. The violent criminal, the felon, the crime boss. She no longer believes in the good in him anymore. She doesn't think him capable of kindness, of forgiveness, of understanding. She doesn't think him capable of anything but blind rage.

He feels the impact of Patterson's words once again. Owning his place. He sees what he's done to Tara, the one person he trusted he'd never hurt. He's broken her, without once raising a hand to her. She no longer expects him to refrain from violence with her. He's ruined the strong, passionate woman he's loved since before he could comprehend the magnitude of his feelings.

He has to do better, he realizes. Here is a woman that has only ever tried to help him, tried to love him, tried to make him a better man, father, husband. And how he's hurt her, with his choices, his cheating, his everything. He wants desperately to take it all back. He wants to take her back to when they were kids. When they loved without fear.

He won't hurt her. He wants her to understand that. He wants her to comprehend that. He wants her to know, deep in her bones, that he is still a good man. That he can and will still do anything for her. For their boys. For their family. That he can still be a good man.

He wants to pull her close. He wants to kiss her. But first, he must prove to them both that he deserves her. That he can still be a good man. That he is still worthy.

* * *

 _The life Tara dreams of_

This is it, she realizes. This is the moment. She's taking the boys. She's leaving Charming. She's going to get away from it all— the club, the violence, even Gemma. She's going to take her boys and she's going to run as fast and as far as she can from everything here. She'll live with her boys, somewhere wonderful, and maybe one day, even Jax will join them.

As she lets herself back into the house, not even the bittersweet realization that she'll leave here and never return can stop her from beaming. She can see their future so clearly now.

"Mom!" Abel bellows from above her, not even his blue eyes visible from under layers of coat, scarves, mittens, face mask, goggles, and helmet. "Watch this!"

"Careful!" She yells heedlessly. Abel won't listen to her, but she's not genuinely worried. He barrels down the hill on his snowboard, heading for the set of stairs. He spring up on the railing, grinding it down. He lands and brings himself to a stop.

"How was that?" He gasps.

"Great." Tara beams at him. "You're getting really good. Are your lessons paying off?"

"Yeah." Abel plops on his butt, laying back against the snow.

"Your heart ok?" Tara asks worriedly.

"I'm fine." Abel rolls his eyes. "You're worrying too much. Where's Tommy?"

"Coming through the trees with Becky." Tara tells him and Abel rolls, spotting the small figure of Thomas carefully navigating the trees on the slopes, following his instructor.

"He's getting better on skis." Abel remarks and Tara nods.

"You're both better than me." She tells them and Abel grins.

"Yeah, that's true. Can we bomb it back to the lift?" He pleads.

"You only get two more runs after this, then we're going home." Tara warns him.

"Mom—" He starts to protest but then thinks better of it. He waits until Thomas makes his way through the trees and stops beside them, looking at Abel then his teacher.

"I think we'll take the last couple runs together Becky." Tara tells the instructor, who nods. "Same time next week?"

"Sounds good. See you then Tom-Tom. We're working on jumps!" She skis away and Tara looks between her sons.

"Wanna watch your mom fall on her butt on a black diamond?" She offers and both boys cheer, before heading down the hill at a breakneck speed. Tara follows, slower, smiling at her sons.

(-)

"Sunscreen, sunscreen, sunscreen." She chides, but they're beyond her grasp, hollering as they run into the waterpark. Tara stands helplessly in the shallows of the pool, holding the sunscreen. She's debating threatening grounding them, but then she sees Abel put Thomas on his back, swimming both of them under a waterfall and smiles.

She sits back on a chair, keeping a careful eye on what rides and activities they're on, but she's not too worried. Both her boys are strong swimmers, and responsible. Abel never lets Thomas out of his sight.

"They yours?" A mom next to her asks and Tara watches as Thomas cannonballs next to Abel as both of them shout with laughter.

"Yeah." Tara can't help but smile. "Yeah, those are my boys."

"Lucky. They get along." The mother mom says wistfully. "I had to let each of my kids bring a friend because last time we came here, they tried to choke each other out."

"I'm sure my boys will get like that by the end of the day." Tara shrugs. "But they're pretty close."

"In age too." She observes. "I've got mine 3 years apart and that was hell."

"Ah, well." Tara doesn't bother to correct her. "They learn to share."

"I bet they do." She chortles. "Where are you guys from?"

"All over." Tara doesn't make eye contact, instead watching as Abel and Thomas wind up the stairs of another ride, squinting to see if their shoulders look red. "I'm a surgical consultant, I travel quite a bit."

"Ah." She nods along. "And your husband?" She looks at the ring that still sits on Tara's hand.

"He's in jail." Tara says honestly.

"Oh." She looks taken aback. "I'm… Well, I didn't expect that."

"It's ok." Tara smiles as Abel lets Thomas go first down the slide. "We're working on things."

"Ah." Nodding, the other woman is distracted when her kids run to her, screaming about being hungry and needing money. Abel and Thomas wander over, grinning at her.

"We're kinda hungry." Thomas admits, watching unimpressed as a grown boy throws a temper tantrum about candy.

"I've got snacks." Tara smiles, opening up her bag. "Dry off and reapply before you have some."

"Aw, mom." They both whine but do as told and are munching on trail mix in a few minutes.

"Having fun?" Tara asks, as they eat in silence, watching people splash in front of them.

"So much." Abel nods. "This is place is awesome."

"Uh huh." Thomas agrees. "I think this might be my favorite place to live so far."

"Well," Tara leans forward and kisses his head. "Don't get too attached. What ride should I go down?"

"You're gonna go down rides with us?"

"Mom, you gotta go down the—"

(-)

Tara looks out over the water. It's like glass, not even a ripple of wind to disturb it. The boys are still fast asleep in the bunk beds inside the cabin, and she knows they will be for several more hours to come. She's the only one gets up to watch the sunrise come up.

She's got a glass of wine in one hand. It's an indulgence, but she's on vacation and she doesn't care. A glass of wine before the sun, she can't find what's wrong with that. In the other hand, she spins a ring.

It's the gold band, the one that once sat on Gemma's finger. If Tara was in any more of a mood, she'd contemplate why she still wears something that connects her so closely to a woman she loathes so much, even after all these years of being free of her. But she doesn't.

Today is a good day. Today cannot be ruined. She's determined to keep it that way, bright and shiny and good. Nothing to do with Gemma or Charming. She takes a sip of her wine and watches as the sun streaks red, gold, orange, pink.

It might be the prettiest sunrise of the trip so far. She debates waking the boys for a fraction of a second, but decides against it. Let them sleep. The peace of the pond and the forest will be shattered by their voices soon enough. No need to rush that.

When the sun is finally fully up and the air is humming with the heat to come during the day, she gets up with a smile. She debates what to make for breakfast- omelets? Muffins?

When she walks back inside the secluded little cabin, she stops dead in her tracks. Already on the table are plates, glasses, and even a little vase of wild flowers. Her boys are standing in the kitchen, bickering, apparently oblivious to her entry.

"She doesn't like her eggs like that!"

"Well now you messed them up, they're going to have to be scrambled!"

"That wasn't my fault, you—"

"I like my eggs scrambled just fine." She says loudly and they both jump guiltily, turning and grinning at her.

"We were gonna surprise you in bed." Thomas explains. "But you weren't in bed."

"I watched the sunrise." Tara looks at the mess in the kitchen with a smile. No way they're going to clean that all up. "Breakfast in bed?"

"For your birthday." Abel explains and Tara hides a smile with her hand, turning to the only man that can responsible for such a tradition. Jax, leaning against the doorway to their bedroom, grinning at her.

"Happy birthday Tara Grace." He says, folding her into a hug.

"I love you." She whispers fiercely, so glad to be back home in his arms.

"I love you too." Jax rocks her back and forth.

 **AN:** Because this was the ending I needed and goddamnit, wished Tara deserved and got. Ok! Break next week and we're on the last season. (Wtf?) Leave me reviews in celebration?


	80. Season 7- Black Widower

_Gemma taking in the boys_

Hands shaking, she takes a deep breath. She has to calm down. She has to be serene now. She cannot let any indication of what just happened bleed into herself now. She steels herself.

Then she pushes the door to scoops open, smiling warmly as Abel runs for her. He's sticky from the treats that he's been allowed to eat, but Gemma hardly notices. She clasps him close and then takes Thomas from Chibs, holding him close. The other men, huddled in the corner, likely deciding a plan of action, don't notice her arrival.

"Oh, my boys." She says tenderly. "Oh, my boys. Should we go home?"

"You taking them?" Chibs looks a little surprised. "After what just happened, you think it's safe?"

"Yes." Gemma avoids his eyes, instead choosing to look down at Abel, holding his chin in her hands. "Want to have a sleepover at Grandma's, baby?"

"I'm not sleepy." Abel declares loudly and no one laughs, everyone too startled by the realization now sinking in. How do they tell him?

"Well, I can see that." She is shaking again, trembling from head to toe. She needs to get out of their sight again. She needs to be alone. She holds the boys close. "Why don't we go read a story?"

"Where'd daddy go?" Abel wonders, and Gemma watches as the club exchanges looks.

"You know baby, sometimes your daddy has to go far away." She says slowly. "And it can seem like a really, really long time. But he'll be back soon, ok?"

"Where's mommy?" Abel questions and Gemma is suddenly aware of the weight of Thomas in her arms, how solid a presence he is, and her breath is taken away.

"She's gone with daddy." That lie seems easiest. Simplest. Gone to be with daddy, like she always should have done. Oh Tara. Gemma chances a glance up at the men, most of whom are nodding in approval. Lie to him now. Break his heart later.

"I want mommy and daddy." Abel declares, screwing his face up in anger. "I want mommy, I want daddy, I want mommy, I want daddy!"

"Abel." Gemma says sharply and he stops, stunned by her tone. She never talks to him like that. "I know you want them. But you're sleeping at Grandma's tonight, do you understand me?"

"Ok." He agrees, then turns to the club members. "Bye."

"Bye little man." Chibs kneels down and gives him a hug. The other men follow, hugging or ruffling his hair.

"Bye buddy."

"See ya Abel."

"Later, little man."

"Bye bud."

"Ok, let's go." Gemma takes Abel's hand when everyone is done saying their goodbyes. She leads them to the car, helping them up into their carseats. She shuts the door and takes a second, pausing as her whole body convulses. Is she going to be sick? Is she still drunk?

It doesn't matter. None of it matters, because she has her boys in the backseat. No one can get to them. No one can take them from her. She's got her family. She's protecting them.

She gets into the car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. A couple blocks, that's all it takes to get home. She just has to get home. Then she'll be safe. Then she can break down. She just has to get the boys where they're safe.

When she pulls into the driveway, Abel is moments away from a temper tantrum and Thomas is fussing. She ushers them inside, ignoring Abel's whining. She just has to get them safe. Away from the bloody world outside.

She locks and deadbolts the door. She clutches Thomas close and lets one single tear to leak out. They're here, she tells herself. They're here and no one is going to take them, ever again.

* * *

 _Tara's funeral_

People are missing. That's the first thing Chibs can think of when he gets to Tara's funeral. There are people missing. Where are the fellow doctors? Where are the hospital staff? Where are the nurses? Where are her college friends? Where is her family?

Of course, it's a small funeral. It has to be, with how gruesome her death was. That can't be splashed out over the headlines. 'Doctor, Biker Queen, senselessly slaughtered in own home'. No, it's not right. Even if it is true.

Jax should be here too, but perhaps it's best if he isn't. Chibs still vividly recalls Opie's funeral. He's not sure how Jax would handle the passing of his soulmate. He's not sure how Jax would survive it.

But still, as he files into the church pews, surrounded by quiet, serious bikers and crow eaters, he feels a sense of unease. It's not right. It just isn't. The picture at the front isn't Tara in her lab coat, wearing bloody gloves, saving lives. It's her, holding her boys, wearing a tank top, smiling, in the courtyard of the clubhouse.

She more than that, he thinks, as he bows his head and closes his eyes, kneeling. She was more than a mother and a wife to a president. They should honor that. But Gemma, sitting in the front, stoic, must not have allowed it. No reminders of the life that Tara led, of what could've gotten her out.

He liked Tara, and he mourns her death. She was a good human. They saved lives together. She never once judged him for his rudimentary skills. She never once questioned his judgment. She was a good doctor. She was a good old lady. She was a good mother. She was good.

He listens to the words, hardly hearing them. They are empty and hollow anyways. Nothing does her justice. Nothing fixes the awfulness of her death. She just deserved better. And so do her sons.

They bury her in a white coffin, for the innocence that she represented. An innocent life lost in their bloody war, suffering the consequences of the choices of those around her. Ophelia, he thinks, as he lays a single flower down. Oh, Ophelia.

People leave fairly quickly after the coffin is lowered, but Chibs stays. He feels like someone needs to. Jax isn't here, there are no family or friends. So he sits, ignoring his dirty jeans.

"Tara," He says to the silence. "I'm sorry, I really am. My hearts broken. I don't think there's much more for me to tell you. But you won't be forgotten."

He stands and looks down at the piece of paper in his hands. A poem, one he feels fits Tara better than Amazing Grace ever could. He reads it once more.

 _The bird that was trapped has flown_

 _The sky that was grey is blue_

 _The bone that was dead has grown_

 _The dream that was dreamed is true_

 _The locked door has been swung wide_

 _The prisoner has been set free_

 _The lips that were sealed have cried_

 _The eye that was blind can see_

 _The tree that was bare is green_

 _The room that was dull is bright_

 _The sheet that was soiled is clean_

 _The dawn that was dark is light_

 _The road that was blocked has no end_

 _The unknown journey is known_

 _The heart that is hurt will mend_

 _The bird that was trapped has flown_

Then he drops it, letting it flutter into her grave, and turning, walking back to his bike.

* * *

 _Lyla on her own two feet_

"Holy fuck." She sets down the latest box of props, groaning and stretching out her back. She's pouring sweat, it glistening on her, and not in the sexy way. She's sticky, hair pilled on top of her head, smelly, panting. But she looks around and grins.

Here it is. Her studio. Where she's behind the camera, not in front of it. Where she's in control. Where she can be safe. It's her place, for better or for worse. And she stops, allowing herself a moment of pride.

She did it. Against all odds, she's here. A job. A roof over her head. Food on the table for her kids. She'd had to fight like hell to get here, but she's here.

"Hey, Lyla, where do you want this?" Sherri asks, bringing in the camera equipment.

"There." She directs the flow of traffic, smoothing down her flyaway hairs. "Where's that purple rug?"

"I think it's in the back of truck." Someone calls and Lyla nods, heading back outside. She clambers into the moving truck, standing aside as more girls carrying equipment past her.

"Careful!" She calls, as someone nearly stumbles, carrying lamps.

"Sorry!" She yells back and Lyla grabs the rug, heaving it over her shoulder. She navigates back inside, glancing around, noting the progress. They just might have everything unloaded today, if they keep it up.

"It looks great." Sherri tells her, looking around.

"It'll come together." Lyla agrees, mentally cataloging what has and hasn't arrived. "Soon enough."

"You did good." Sherri slaps her ass. "Have a drink, you wonder woman. You deserve it."

"Tonight." Lyla promises. "Right now, I have so much left to do."

"Very true." Sherri disappears to go find missing pillows.

"Tonight." Lyla whispers, looking out over the chaos. Her chaos.

She's doing this. She's standing on her own two feet. And damn, does it feel good.

* * *

 _How Brooke and Rat meet_

"Brooke, grab those balloons." Lyla orders, pointing to the cluster of them. "They need to come inside."

"Got it." Brooke says quickly, setting down the box of streamers and party decorations. "Where at?"

"Uh, put them behind the bar." Lyla is distracted by a receipt so Brooke decides to head out and complete her task. She grasps as many of the strings as she can, hauling them back inside and behind the bar, out of the way of the busy girls.

"Hey, what should I do next?" She asks a girl with dark hair, who glances at Lyla, directing traffic through the studio.

"Why don't you run out back and see if the guys need help?" She suggests and Brooke bobs her head, ducking through the back door. Outside stands a group of men in kuttes, cussing each other out.

"Well if you weren't such a pain in the ass, maybe we wouldn't have this problem." One tells the other.

"Funny, pain in the ass sounds a lot like the nickname your mama gave me." He shoots back.

"Um," Brooke pipes up and they both pause, looking down at her. "I came to help."

"Oh." The one says, a tall man with huge arms and a black knit hat, looking her over. She knows what he'll see. She's too young, too short. She doesn't have the long legs and tiny waist of the porn stars inside. She's normal. "Well… Grab that crate."

"Are you fucking stupid?" The guy clambering on top of the crate in the truck gives him a look of disbelief. "Look at her arms. Twigs. She can't lift shit."

"I'm stronger than I look." Brooke protests and he raises an eyebrow, then casts a look around.

"Fuck, grab the smaller stuff in the back. Don't get in our way though."

"Sure." She heads for the truck and he reaches his hand out to pull her up. She grasps ahold, trying not to gasp. His hands, warm but a little rough, are firm. He yanks her up and she stumbles a bit. He reaches out a steadying hand and she stares up at him.

"Easy." He mutters.

"Thanks." She says breathlessly and he waves a hand, before grunting and picking up the next crate, yelling something to the other man.

Brooke hauls in the smaller boxes, setting them wherever she's directed to. Each time, she hastily stacks them and hurries back outside, purposely slowing her stride when she gets close to the truck. When she nears it, every time, he offers her his hand and pulls her up.

She feels his eyes on her, when she walks back into the studio. She likes it. She likes his attention, in a way that she hasn't liked in a long time. And she likes being with him, for their brief moments in the truck.

"Rat!" The one man yells and he looks away from her hastily.

"What?" He demands and Brooke hides a secret smile. His name is Rat.

"Hey." She nudges Lyla when she brings another box in.

"What?" Lyla looks up, distracted.

"Rat." Brooke flushes bright red. "What's his story?"

"Why?" Lyla finally sets aside her clipboard of todo's, smiling knowingly.

"Nothing." Brooke fights to stay casual, even as her smile and hot cheeks betray her. "He's just, I guess, kinda cute. You know?"

"Yeah." Lyla smoothes down her hair. "I do. Go outside, talk to him. If anyone asks, I sent you to supervise."

"Thanks." Brooke darts back outside, finding an empty crate to sit on.

"What are you doing?" Rat asks, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Lyla sent me to supervise." Brooke proclaims and Rat chuckles.

"I'm Rat. This is Quinn."

"Aren't you the crazy chick that threw the brick through the window?" Quinn grunts and Brooke draws her knees up to her chest.

"Yeah, I am. I'm trying to be less crazy though."

"Good for you." Rat gives her a little smile and Quinn looks between the two of them, quiet.

The whole party, Brooke makes excuses to be close to him. Bringing him drinks. Cleaning tables next to him. Slipping off to the back of the bar at the same time he is, saying that Lyla needs something. Eventually, the two of them are standing behind the bar, watching as the party winds to a close.

"Why aren't you in there?" Brooke asks suddenly and Rat glances down at her.

"Where?"

"There." She gestures to where the girls keep disappearing, dragging men by their shirt and ties.

"Oh." He shifts back and forth, shrugging. "Not my scene."

"What is your scene?" Brooke asks and he looks down at her.

"Something simpler."

"Sex with a hooker, no strings attached. What can be more simple than that?" She points out and he chuckles.

"I meant a simpler girl." He clarifies. "Not one who needs fancy clothes and jewelry and all that attention. My life is chaos. I need a girl who isn't."

"Come on then." With a spurt of bravery, Brooke reaches her hand out. "A dance is pretty simple."

"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow, but takes her hand and Brooke grins.

"Yeah."

* * *

 _Wendy with Thomas_

God, he looks like Abel. That's all she can think about as she holds him. The reality of it all hasn't sunken in yet. She's been keeping it at a safe distance, because all she can focus on right now is the boys. Not Tara's death. Not her sobriety. Just the boys.

Abel is still standoffish, still confused. They're working on it, she reminds herself. They're working on it. He needs time. And probably therapy. But he's safe, and that's what matters. That what she needs.

Thomas is a different story entirely. He's still a baby, Wendy is stunned to realize. He is still young. He still is sweet and loves to snuggle. He wants cuddles and his bottle, and when he sleeps, his perfect little cupid's bow puckers, dreaming sweet baby dreams.

He is her second chance, as cautious as she is about thinking about it that way. She is almost too scared to get attached. To let herself think about raising him. About getting a shot at redemption for all her faults.

She once thought about her sobriety as steps, leading her upwards, making her worthy of Abel. But now, the rickety ladder has turned to stone and she is on top.

Tara watched over Abel when Wendy couldn't. She took him in, raised him as her own, cared for him, loved him. Wendy once hated her for that, for her ability to do so. She told herself that Tara could never love Abel like she did. That no woman was capable of loving like a birth mother. She ignored all evidence that Tara did.

But now, she gets it. She looks at Abel, and her heart swells. Then she holds Thomas, and her heart swells bigger. He is her's, and she loves him. No more, no less than Abel. He has taken a chunk from her heart, much like Abel once did, and now he carries it outside her body.

She's amazed, and a little proud of herself. That somehow, she's been deemed worthy. She can love her sons, and it's plural now, equally. That she can carry on the tradition that Tara started. She will repay the debt.

She loves Thomas. She loves Abel. And she will do all she can to make the memory of their first mother proud.

* * *

 _Wendy and Nero raising the kids together_

"We're almost out of clean bowls." Wendy informs him, ducking behind him with the last remaining stacks.

"You cleaned out Lucius's room lately?" Nero asks, with a laugh. "Swear, that kid always has like twenty in there."

"Well, if someone wouldn't let him eat breakfast in his room, we wouldn't have all this nonsense." Wendy teases and he pretends to be affronted, disappearing into his son's room.

"Found them." He calls, emerging with a stack. Wendy laughs and opens the dishwasher, moving aside so that she can check the roast in the oven. "Guess no ice cream tonight."

"They'll get creative, I've sure." Wendy pulls it out of the oven, carrying it to the table and setting it down. "It's not like they won't request root beer floats and the rest."

"There's a point." He says thoughtfully, shutting the dishwasher and starting it. "Or we could have pie."

"Pie?" Wendy looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "Where the hell did pie come from?"

"Dunno." Nero shrugs. "I just like pie. Mi abuela, she'd make a mean pie back in her day."

"Go to the store and pick one up." Wendy grins, shaking her head. "I can't bake for shit."

"Yeah, why you think the boys eat the cookie dough raw? It's so you can't burn it to bits." He jabs and Wendy flips him off before hollering out the window,

"Boys! Come and eat!"

"Five more minutes!" Abel yells back and Wendy glances at Nero, who consults the clock.

"Eh, why not let them wear themselves out a little more?" He suggests and Wendy goes back to setting the table. They move about with ease around the kitchen and when the table is finally done, food cooling, she turns and finds Nero offering her a glass of wine.

"Christ, thank you." She takes it and leans against the counter.

"Looks good." Nero looks over their meal approvingly and Wendy chuckles.

"Too many vegetables for the boys." She mutters.

"And no pie." He adds solemnly.

"And no pie." She agrees, with a smile. They fall into a comfortable, easy silence, sipping their wine and listening to the shouts of the boys just outside.

"We're doing ok." Nero says suddenly and Wendy knows he's not referencing the food they've cooked, or the farmhouse that's relatively clean, or the savings accounts that are small but growing, or the chips in Wendy's drawer, each a little longer than the last.

No, he's talking about three joyful boys outside, too happy playing to be bothered to come inside to eat. He's talking about their sons, and Wendy raises a glass to that.

 **AN:** Sorry for the late update, traveling yesterday! Welcome to season 7, by know you know the drill...


	81. Season 7- Toil and Till

_Jax sleeping alone_

He wakes up from a nightmare, gasping. He was being chased, by something awful and deadly, reaching out for him. His heart is still pounding, his room still too dark. He yanks his blankets up to his chest, trying to hide away.

It had been a monster. A terrible monster, trying to get him. He shudders, trying to tell himself that there's no such thing. Monsters aren't real. They don't exist. But this one had felt so real…

He slips out of his bed, wrapping his blanket around himself. He inches towards the door, moving slowly, because he didn't pick up his trucks like his mother asked him to, and he doesn't want to get one in his foot.

Finally, he reaches the door, easing it open. He slips into the hallway, looking both ways. You never know where monsters are going to come from. Then he turns left and pads down the hall, finally reaching his destination.

He opens the door to Thomas's room slowly, because it squeaks on it's hinges if you don't. He makes his way to Thomas's little trundle bed, low to the ground, because he's still rolling out of it sometimes.

"Tommy." He whispers urgently. "Tommy, wake up."

"What?" Thomas rolls over, eyes still closed.

"Move over."

"Why?"

"I want to sleep with you tonight."

Without any further protests, Thomas scoots close to the wall and curls up. Jax lays down next to him, arranging his blanket so that it comes both of them evenly. Then he lays his head down.

Thomas breathing next to him provides a comfort. It's slow and steady, rising and falling in a rhythm that Jax matches, until his own heart is calm and his body is relaxed, sleep sinking it's soft hooks into him to tug him deeper.

He's here to protect Thomas from the monsters. That's what it is. Not because he's scared, but because if Thomas wakes up, Jax can be right there for him. That's what he tells himself, as the two little boys fall back asleep, nestled close to each other.

(-)

Jax can't sleep. Not because he had too much caffeine, though a coffee at 5 pm probably wasn't his smartest choice. And not because he's been sleeping too much lately, because he's been getting 4 hours a night. Not even because he's drunk or high or even full of adrenaline after pulling some stunt with Opie.

No, the reason why Jax Teller can't sleep is because there's a girl in his bed. A wonderful, beautiful, stunning girl. This isn't the first time, not by a long shot. He's woken up with girls in his bed before. None of them have ever looked like this.

Tara is fast asleep, her dark hair piled high atop her head as she sleeps. Her face is devoid of makeup, and for some reason, that endears her more to Jax. She's snoring slightly, an exhale of breath just a little louder than normal.

She's tangled up in the sheets, hogging most of them, but Jax can't even bring himself to care about that. He's not sleeping anyways. All that matters is that Tara is here, in his bed.

She's got clothes on, that's the other thing. He likes that too, that she's not passed out naked. She's wearing shorts and a teeshirt of his, an old one that he outgrew years ago. It's perfect, somehow sexier than skimpy panties and a lacy bra.

He brushes back a lock of her hair and she turns in her sleep. He holds still, waiting for her to wake up, but instead she just sighs. Once he's sure that she's still sleeping, he reaches down and rests his head next to hers, so that he's gazing at her profile.

She's so pretty. So amazing. When she's sleeping, she looks peaceful. Innocent. Young. He thinks all these things, then presses a feather light kiss to her forehead. He snuggles close to her, beaming when she does the same.

This right here, with her in his arms, is quickly becoming everything to him. As he closes his eyes and works to memorize everything about her, he wonders how he slept alone for so many years.

(-)

His head is pounding. It's absolutely beating like a drum, like a tiny marching band has taken up using his brain as their practice field. He doesn't dare open his eyes. He knows what kind of mistake that'll be.

He also knows not to roll over. That's also a mistake, and usually a big one. Rolling over means upset stomach and upset stomach means puking. He wants to avoid the whole puking.

Instead, he keeps his eyes firmly shut, lying on his back, using his other sense to try and place where exactly he is. The smell of cigarettes, gasoline, stale beer, and sweat. So he's at the clubhouse. The sheets beneath him are threadbare, a tiny bit scratchy, and wrinkled. So he's in a dorm room.

He doesn't hear people talking or any general rumbling from the clubhouse, so it must be pretty early. There's something else though, the sound of someone else breathing, shallowly, with a faint wheezing snore. He starts patting the bed, looking for the source of the noise.

Something soft. Squishy. Round. Familiar to his touch. He travels up further, until he feels hair. Short, a little greasy. He knows exactly what's happened then. He can practically still taste the whiskey on his breath.

He braces himself, then inches his way into a seated position, squinting at the scene around him. Messy room, clothes slung around haphazardly. A bottle, empty, but a puddle on the floor. And next to him in bed, with tousled hair and no clothes, is Wendy.

He sighs, trying to wrangle up the desire to get up. The sun is barely up, signaling the start of a new day, but already Jax feels the familiar claustrophobia, the need to run. He needs to go.

He gets up without a second thought for the woman in his bed. He takes the pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, lighting one as he pulls pants on. There was once a time when he's stay in bed al day, delighted to have someone to share it.

But those days are done. Now, the only reason he has someone in his bed is because Jax Teller has never been good at sleeping alone.

* * *

 _Tig and Rat's bromance_

"Prospect!" Tig bellows and Rat emerges from the shop, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"I need your help." Tig declares and Chibs, passing by, snorts.

"What?" Rat asks suspiciously.

"Don't ask questions or I'll stick my dick in your ass." Tig threatens and Rat shuts his mouth. "Get the fucking truck."

"Yessir." Rat scrambles to get the keys.

"What are you going to make him do?" Chibs asks curiously and Tig grins.

"Sewer broke at home. I need someone to wade through the shit. Literally."

"Don't actually fuck him though." Chibs orders, disappearing, and Tig grins. Rat pulls up with the van, wide eyed.

"Alright, follow me." Tig walks to his bike, heading for home.

"Oh fuck, what's that smell?" Rat demands, when they arrive, eyes already watering.

"Shit." Tig says cheerfully. "Grab the stuff from the van, you're going to need it."

"Wh…" The question dies on Rat's lip as he remembers Tig's earlier threat and resigned to his fate, he opens the van, grabbing a bucket, shovel, mop, and gloves. Tig leads him to the stinking puddle of murky brown, growing larger by the minute.

"Clean this up." He points to it and Rat studies it for a second.

"How?" He asks carefully, sure to have his back away from Tig.

"Don't know." Tig shrugs. "Don't care. Do it."

"Fuck." Rat mutters, pulling on the gloves. Tig pulls up a chair. "What?"

"I'm going to watch and make sure you're doing a good job." Tig says innocently.

"Are you going to help then?"

"Not a fucking chance in hell."

Rat shifts through the shit, gagging occasionally, vomiting more often than not. Tig appears with a glass of lemonade, purposely slurping it loudly in Rat's face until finally, exasperated, he throws down the tools and rounds on him.

"You can fuck off!"

"Can I?" Tig asks, taking another drink, smacking his lips for effect.

"Yeah!" Rat reaches down and grabs a handful of the sewage. Looking Tig in the eye, he pours it into the lemonade.

"You motherfucker." Tig drops the glass and before it's even shattered, he's tackled Rat into the mess. Rat yells, grappling, trying to gain the upper hand on Tig and failing. The entire time, both scream insults at each other.

"I'll fuck your cat!"

"Which one?"

"Suck a big black cock!"

"Only if it's your daddy's!"

"Oh yeah, stick your foot up my ass, it can probably fit!"

"That wasn't even a fucking diss on me you dumbass, that's saying you take shit up the ass all the time!"

Finally they break apart, gasping, covered in waste. Rat, suddenly realizing what he's done, stiffens up. Tig eyes him for a long moment, then wipes the shit from his forehead and flings it at Rat.

"Fuck, you need a shower."

"Wait, you're not going to kick me out?" He demands, trailing Tig towards the hose.

"Nah." Tig turns the icy water on full blast, stuffing it down Rat's pants. He howls, trying to yank it out, but Tig keeps it where it is. "I actually kinda like you."

* * *

 _Unser and the club's beginning_

He double checks that his gun is in it's place on his hip. He's out of uniform, in plain clothes, but he doesn't dare go anywhere without his weapon. Especially not out into the woods outside Charming, to meet with John Teller.

Sure, he knows John Teller. Everyone does, if you grew up around Charming. Sons of Anarchy. The MC is just as much a part of the town as the diner, or the old brick high school. But he's never had to deal with them much before.

"Wayne." John is sitting in a lawn chair atop the hill, in a circle of men, most of whom are smoking and drinking. He stands upon his arrival, offering his hand.

"John." Unser shakes his hand slowly, looking around at the faces. Morrow. Winston. Others. None of them have their weapons drawn, but they sit in obvious site.

"Come, sit." John ushers him to an empty chair. "You want a beer?"

"Uh, no." Unser prefers to be sober for whatever's coming next.

"Alright." John shrugs and tosses the beer to a short, squat man.

"So why am I here?" He asks bluntly and John looks to Piney, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, we can get right to the point then." John chuckles. "We know you're next in line for police chief. Writing's on the wall."

"So?" He asks, a little defensively.

"So we want to work with you." Clay declares and John glances at him.

"Work with me." Unser repeats. "What, like bribe me?"

"No." John says hastily. "No, nothing of the sort. No, we're just saying, Johnson, he's a good guy. Led the department the right way. But he always took a little bit of a… Hands off approach."

"Hands off approach." Unser leans back, folding his arms. "Meaning he let you do what you want."

"Within reason." John smiles and Unser hates how handsome he is. "Of course, he still liked to pick our asses up sometimes. You know, just to prove he could."

"Well, when you're doing illegal shit, that tends to happen." Unser remarks and is surprised when most of the men chuckle.

"That's fair," John admits. "And mostly deserved. But see the thing is, we don't want to have that kind of relationship with you. It doesn't… Benefit us."

"Are you asking me to cut you some slack?" Unser demands, affronted, and John puts his hand up.

"Exact opposite." He says quickly. "We're asking you to set guidelines for us and have us operate within them. We want to work with you Wayne. All of us, we love Charming. We call this place home, just like you."

"I don't believe for a second that a bunch of outlaws want to follow my damn rules." Unser spits and John grins, rather than get offended.

"No, you're right. We don't. But we want to keep Charming safe. That's the value we provide Wayne. That's the service we provide to this town. You keep drug dealers off the streets, but we can keep them out of Charming entirely. You can arrest a rapist, but we can make sure they never touch another soul. You might be the old man on the front porch with a shotgun Wayne, but we're the rapid pitbull that will tear your face off. You think anyone is going to come near Charming?"

"What's the catch?" He demands. "I gotta cut your guys loose after every DUI? Ignore dead bodies in the backyard?"

"Dead bodies?" John laughs. "We're a hobbyist club Wayne. What dead bodies do we have?"

"I hear shit." He looks around at the impassive faces. "About what the Sons do. What you can do."

"Sure." John doesn't deny it. "But the people of Charming, they see sunny streets lined with flowers, blue skies, and their kids playing outside till dark. They don't fear anything, because they know they have a wall between them and ugly things. We're that wall."

"Police can be that wall." He argues.

"Not like us." John explains. "You can only go so far. You try to kill a man who abuses his kids, there'd be public outcry. But if that same man just disappeared from town, never to be seen again?"

"So you want me to turn a blind eye to it all?" He narrows his eyes.

"No." John offers him a beer again and this time he takes it. "We want to offer you our services. Think of us like… A fire department. When there's a house on fire, you can call us."

"Those things got hoses on them?" He glances back at the bikes, drawing chuckles from them.

"Exactly." John grins. "It's a pretty simple arrangement. You keep an eye out for trouble for us. We'll make sure Charming lives up to it's namesake. Nothing in it's borders, ever, we promise you that. And if you occasionally hear whispers, we'd like a shout."

"We can pay you." Clay leans forward. "Depending on what you do for us, we'll give you a little bump. Can't be easy, raising kids on a cops salary."

"No." He admits, fiddling with his wedding ring.

"So what do you say Wayne?" John offers him his hand. "You think that we should give this a try?"

"Case by case basis at first." He decides. "And I call the shots, not the other way around. And if shit goes down, you leave my name out of it. I ain't a dirty cop."

"No, you're not." John claps his shoulder. "You know how to work with us to do what's best for Charming. Smart cop, not dirty."

"Alright." He takes John's hand and shakes it. "Alright then, we'll be friends."

* * *

 _Why Juice can't leave Charming_

He remembers the day he rode into Charming. It'd be hot, the kind of heat that fries eggs on the sidewalk and people break windows for dogs trapped in cars. He hadn't minded it, such a welcome change of pace from the east coast.

He'd found the club by accident, meeting Chibs at a rally when he was just a drifter. But it'd made sense, that was what really drew him in. It made sense for him to be there. His brain quieted down. Things lined up. He could breathe.

It was home after his first days. Home before he even bought the little dingy house with the broken front step that he's meant to fix for years now. Even before he opened up shop, before he learned to navigate it's streets backwards, in the dark, drunk.

That's why he can't go. Screw death. Screw dismemberment. Screw whatever way Jax will torture and kill him. Screw the pain. Screw the suffering. Screw it all. He can't leave Charming. He can't. It's all he is. A son, with his reaper.

Besides, where would he go, back to where he grew up? To a grandmother that's long in her grave, a mother who would despise him, a father who never bothered to know him? There is no family for Juice to run to. None that would accept him anyways.

This is where he belongs. There was never a plan B. Never a 'what if' or 'one day' or even the slightest thought to think about what might happen one day he wasn't SAMCRO. The thought was completely inconceivable. Unimaginable.

Charming is in his blood now, and he's sure his heart will stop if he gets too far away. Besides, some part of him is holding out hope. Holding out on the belief that Jax will forgive him. Let him back in.

He'd do anything. He's already done anything and everything for him. Lied. Stole. Murdered. Tossed away his family, his girlfriend, his life, everything. All for the club. Surely that means something, means more than one tiny mistake.

He has to get back. There's nowhere else for him to go.

 **AN:** Ep 2! I know a lot of people don't love season 7, but I'm going to do all I can to give you great chapters and if I get 400 reviews by the end of it, well that'd be just dandy.


	82. Season 7- Playing With Monsters

_Lyla in porn kids perspective_

"Your mom's a trashy whore!" The words are flung out of the mouth of Peter Tran, the biggest bully in all of seventh grade. But instead of causing a reaction, Piper and Ken keep eating their sandwiches. "You heard me? Your mom is a big fat slut."

"Don't do anything." Ellie says lowly, seeing the way Piper's hands are starting to twitch. "Don't, or we're going to get kicked out. Again."

"Ellie." Ken is trying to keep his voice level. "If we don't punch them, they're going to think we're weak. They're going to keep saying shit."

"Let them." Ellie heaves a shrug. "They're dumb kids anyways."

"El." Piper says desperately. "They can't talk about mom like that."

"Yes, they can." Ellie gives him a glare. "Pipes, mom does porn. She does porn, so what? She's still a better mom than Peter Tran's. You know that she's addicted to pills? Yeah, Peter's brother isn't at a special school for genius kids. He was born addicted to pills. The state took him away."

"How do you know that?" Ken demands, momentarily distracted from the jeers from across the pool.

"I know shit." Ellie rolls her eyes. "But my point is, everyone is really fucked up. Mom loves us, ok?"

"Yeah, and we love her, that's why we have to go beat the shit out of him." Piper tries to logic her.

"No." Ellie says flatly. "That's just feeding into their shit. Let is go, or they'll just call you white trash for fighting."

"Fine." Piper folds his arms, fists balled. "But I don't like it."

"No one does." Ellie reassures him.

When Lyla pulls up to the pool, she sighs. Ellie and the boys are sitting outside, Ellie looking thoroughly disgruntled. Ken sports a bloody nose, while Piper has a bag of ice to his eye. She pulls up, sighing.

"Get in." She orders.

"I told them not to." Ellie declares, before she's even in the front seat.

"I bet. What happened?" She demands of the boys.

"Peter Tran was talking shit." Piper mutters.

"Language!"

"Well, he was!"

"He was saying stuff about Red Woody." Ellie explains, rolling her eyes. "I told them that you're a better mom than his, that's why he's jealous."

"Well she's a pill taking harpy who almost killed her own kid." Lyla snorts and both boys look at her in astonishment.

"I knew you didn't find that out on your own!"

"I told them not to fight." Ellie cuts them off. "But they don't listen."

"Boys." Lyla rests her head on the steering wheel tiredly. "I know that what I do is… Embarrassing maybe. Or weird. And I know kids say mean things. But you can't fight all of them."

"Yeah we can." Ken says sullenly. "If Jabi hadn't sucker punched me, we would've kicked their asses."

"No. Fighting." Lyla enunciates. "No more. Next time Peter Tran tries to talk shit to you two, remind him that his daddy offered to pay thousands of dollars for a private show."

"Holy shit." Piper's eyebrows fly up.

"Guys! Language!"

"Can we actually do that?" Ken asks in disbelief and Lyla shrugs, putting the car into drive and pulling away from the pool.

"That's the thing. Men are always going to look down on the very people that they pay money to. So take their money and call them a damn fool behind their backs." She advises. "You end up rich, and they can't take your dignity that way."

"Sweet." Armed with new ammo, the boys sit back, grinning.

"Oh, and you're both grounded for two weeks. No phones. No TV. No laptops. Nada. Cut off."

"But mom!"

* * *

 _African crows_

"I got you a little something." Clay informs her, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"Yeah, and what's that? A stiffy?" Gemma doesn't bother to turn around, still crunching numbers.

"No." Clay isn't offended but rather amused. "It's at home though."

"You're a little late for a lunchtime quickie." Gemma consults the clock. 2:33.

"Come home with me." Clay orders, exasperated. "Please."

"Fine." Gemma sets aside her things, looking up at him expectantly. "Let's go then, but you better be snappy. We have bills that are due."

"Let them default." He grins at her, leading her to his bike. When they pull up to the house, it's still standing, making Gemma eye it suspiciously.

"Well?" She demands, getting off the bike.

"It's inside." Clay tells her and she sighs.

"So it's not a car?"

"No." He grins. "But I still think you're going to like it."

"Ok." Skeptical, she follows him inside, looking around to see what he could possibly have. He leads her to the back bedroom, where a large object is covered in a shroud. She stops, looking at him.

"Well?" He is practically bouncing on his toes, like a giddy little kid.

"Well what?" She eyes it.

"Take the blanket off." He orders and Gemma, a little hesitant, steps forward and yanks the cloth away.

Two birds look at her and she gasps. They're beautiful, with long hooked beaks, glossy black feathers, and intelligent black eyes that look at her. They ruffle their wings and peer about at their surroundings, like they're taking stock in the place, much like she might.

"Why, hello." She says, her voice surprisingly tender. "Who might you be?"

"They're African crows." Clay explains. "They're just like you actually. They're really intelligent, some of the smartest birds. And they can kind of hell raisers— they like to destroy things, or at least see if they can."

"You saying I destroy stuff?" Gemma asks, sticking a finger in the cage so she can stroke their feathers.

"I'm saying you don't mind." Clay leans against the door, grinning. "You like them?"

"I do." Gemma watches as one watches her.

"Oh, and they said to never treat them wrong. They've got long memories, and good ones. They don't forget people who do them wrong." He tells her and that brings a hint of a smile to Gemma's face.

"They're perfect." She says quietly. "Absolutely perfect."

"I thought you'd like them." Clay looks pleased with his choice. "They're more you than parrots or finches or whatever."

Dark, mysterious. Smart, shrewd, with a memory that never forgets those who betray them. Destructive, but loyal to those that deserve it. She glances up at Clay, glad to have married a man that knows her so well.

"I love them." She says honestly, going to give him a kiss. "Thank you."

* * *

 _Girls of Diosa_

No one comes to Diosa by mistake. No one gets into escorting by accident. It's not a profession that you can just fall into. It's a choice. It's always a choice. Sometimes it's a forced choice, brought on by a sense of hopelessness or desperation. But it's always their choice.

Ginny chose it because she likes it. The attention from the guys is fun. They all want her. They pick her, out of all the other girls. They choose her. She likes that power over them. She likes that she can leave them hanging off her every word. She can flutter her eyelashes and get her way, because a guy like them could never get a girl like her outside Diosa, and they know it. So they give her all the attention she craves, and she loves it.

Cari is in it for the money. She needs cash. One day she's going to build a real estate business from the ground up, but for that, you need cash. That's all it is, a job to walk in and out of. Except it's not 9-5 and she is utterly paranoid about getting pregnant. A baby, especially one of these creep's, would ruin everything. So she comes in, slaps a pretty smile on her face, pushes her tits up, and tells herself that one day she won't even remember her past, just her future.

June came through a completely different route than most girls. She had a good family. A mom and dad who loved her, a little sister who adored her, a two story house with the white fence and a golden retriever. She'd been caption of the tennis team. Had an athletic scholarship to go to college. She did two years before realizing that she was so bored, being dead had more appeal than carrying on. So she'd cut her ties, went running headlong into the world of porn and escorting, and had never bothered to once look back.

Isabella knows how lucky she is just to be there. The youngest of a brood raised by a grandmother, she'd left home at 14. Hitchhiked towards warmth. Learned that opening your legs earned you more than holding out your hands. And so she'd carried on, through the drugs. The pregnancy scares. The fights and abuse and everything. That's how Nero found her, ages ago, on a street corner. He'd offered her a smoke, then offered her a home. Helped her get clean. Helped her save up. And now, her kids have food on the table, and she thanks God everyday for Diosa.

Brit hates that her story sounds like a goddamn cliche. A daddy that didn't love her. A mother that ignored her. A little lost girl, forever searching for the affection that was denied to her as a child. It is such a cliche, and she loathes that it's true. But she knows better. She knows who she is. She knows where she came from. But she also knows that she is good at listening. She is good at hearing the stories of men, of comforting them however they need. It isn't always sex. Sometimes it's just cuddling. But these men need her, and she thrives on that, predictable and all.

* * *

 _"You like a full house."_

"Don't you dare drop that!" Gemma scolds a small boy, running through the kitchen with a pile of dirt in his hands. He grins at her, dirt flying behind him. She throws her hands up, grumbling.

"How much of that do you think we're going to find in a bed somewhere?" Luann remarks, smiling and Gemma can't help her wry smile.

"Too much, I'm sure. You got the lasagna?"

"Yeah, you go check on things out there." Luann shoos her away. "Just send a couple girls in to help me with garlic bread."

"Got it." Gemma walks out into the clubhouse, glancing at a couple crow eaters flirting with the visiting charter members. She whistles sharply and they look up at her instantly. "Kitchen." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder and they go quickly.

"Aw, let them have their fun." John jokes, walking up behind her and smiling. "They haven't had new dick to suck in how long?"

"Not long enough." Gemma remarks, cleaning off the bar. "Besides, it'll still be there for them tonight, don't worry. When's everyone getting back?"

"Soon." John looks out over the crowd of people.

"How much longer is this going to last?" Gemma asks quietly.

"I don't know." John frowns slightly. "Until the Irish clean it up, I suppose. Where are the boys?"

"Thomas is down for his nap." Gemma explains. "And Jax is outside. Someone found a little pool, so we let the kids go out to splash. Otherwise they start to get cagey."

"I know the feeling." John manages a smile, then kisses her forehead. "Thanks for holding this all down."

"Of course." She smiles, looking out over the misfit crowd they have. Bikers, crow eaters, kids, everyone that they love and protect. "I actually kind of love this, you know?"

"Yeah." John slips an arm around her waist. "It's what you do best too."

"What makes you say that?" She questions him.

"This is you." He gazes out, watching as a group of kids burst through the doors to go outside. "Protective. Nurturing. Caring. Sheltering. Organizing. Leading. You do it well. You do it better than any of these women could."

"Well," Gemma has to stop herself from beaming with pride. Those are high words of praise, coming from her husband. "I just do what I can to keep everyone I love safe."

She loves this though. She revels in it. A full clubhouse. An overload of noise, stimulation, smells. Cooking food by the boatload. Delegating beds and chores. Breaking up fights. Mothering the motherless.

She doesn't just survive here, she thrives in the chaos. And she knows why, even if she doesn't mention it to John. She loves the madhouse the club becomes during lockdown because it's such a stark contrast to her childhood. Every screech and scream is like a slap in the face for Rose and Gemma loves it.

* * *

 _Rat and Brooke – "Just don't knock her up!"_

"Oh, fuck." Brooke whispers, looking down at the stick in her hand. She wishes she could focus on how cool the tiles of the bathroom floor are on her feet. She wishes she was entranced by the hot air streaming in from the open window, the sign of a scorching day to come. She wishes all of her attention was focused on the dripping of the faucet and sink, out of sync with each other- drip drip, drop. Drip, drop, drip drip.

But none of that matters. All that matters is the stick in her hands, simple, white, with a tiny screen bearing two distinct lines. She checks the box in her other hand again, a rhythm she can't break.

'Two lines means pregnant!' Check the stick. Two lines. Swing back to the box. 'Two lines means pregnant!' Check the stick. Still two lines. Back to the back, desperate now. 'Two lines means pregnant!' Stare at the stick. Maybe it's just one, and this one was mistaken.

She digs through the box again, finding the second stick. She races downstairs, chugging the gallon of water that Rat usually uses during workouts. Then she waits, pacing the hall, until she has to pee again.

Pee. Sit. Wait. Panic. Hyperventilate. Check stick. Not ready yet. Groan. Sit. Wait. Fiddle. Try to think about having a baby. Instantly want to throw up. Panic more. Look at the stick.

Two lines.

"Holy fuck." She whispers, snatching up both sticks and looking at them in astonishment. "Oh, fuck me. Fuck. Fuck this fucking fuck. Oh fuck, oh… Fuck!"

When Rat comes home, she's pacing around the kitchen. He walks in, raising an eyebrow. She is oblivious, picking at the skin around her nails, a clear sign that she's agitated. He waits for her to explain, then when she doesn't, loudly clears throat.

"Hi honey."

"Oh!" She jumps, evidently startled by his appearance. "Hi!"

"Hi." He sits down at the table, still watching her in concern. "Everything ok?"

"Yeah!" She blusters. "The, uh, pizza is in the oven!"

"Pizza." He blinks. "You never let me have pizza. You usually make me eat something healthy."

"I felt like pizza." Brooke is still pacing, so he finally gets up and stops her, placing his hand on her shoulders and staring deep into her wild eyes.

"What is it?"

"I'm pregnant." She blurts it out gracelessly and his hands falls away as he stumbles back, searching for the chair to sit. Brooke stares where she is, looking at him with evident fear. He rubs his face, trying to take in her words.

"What?" He manages. Brooke sets the two tests down on the table, nudging them closer to him. He picks them up in a daze, staring at the lines that clearly mark that her as pregnant. "Is it mine?"

"What do you mean, is it yours?" Brooke loses her fear with a flash of anger in her eyes. "Are you fucking kidding me? Get out of here with that shit, is it mine? You asshole, you're the only guy I've slept with for months!"

"Well!" He sets the sticks down and she's breathing heavily, glaring at him. "Wait, are we actually going to be parents?"

"Do you want to keep it?" Brooke asks, face suddenly falling. "Because… I do. And I'll do it without you. But… I don't want to."

"No." He stands, walking over to her and placing his hand on her belly. "No, no, no. I'm going to be here for this. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Oh my god." Brooke suddenly bursts into tears. "We're going to be parents!"

"And we're going to have pizza." Rat kisses her head and Brooke laughs and cries as he pulls it from the oven.

"I love you." She tells him and he smiles.

"I love you too."

* * *

 _Gemma raising violent Jax_

 **The first time Gemma sees the flicker of a fighter in Jax, he's three years old.**

"He yours?" The woman nudges Gemma's shoulder, pointing out to Jax, who's playing on the swings.

"Yeah." Gemma smiles and puts out her cigarette. "Yeah, Jackson."

"Perry." She points to the little boy in the sandbox. "He's 42 months."

"So 3 and a half." Gemma raises an eyebrow. She hates when parents insist on saying months, like that will keep their child small.

"That sounds so old." The mother complains and Gemma nods, her assumptions confirmed. "How old was yours when he started walking? Has he learned his numbers yet? What parenting techniques do you use?"

"I mostly try to keep him from being an asshole." Gemma says honestly and the woman is taken aback.

"Oh." She's quiet for a long pause, but not long enough for Gemma's liking. "So are you sending him to preschool?"

"No." Gemma frowns at her.

"Oh, so you're homeschooling? That's amazing. I hear it's really beneficial. I think that mother's should always spend more time with their kids. I mean, the parents that hire nannies and stuff?"

"Yeah." Gemma says, mostly ignoring her now, watching as Jax wanders into the sandbox. He sits next to Perry, who's significantly larger than himself, minding his own business. Then, suddenly, the little boy grabs a handful of sand, shoving it in Jax's face. Before Gemma can even stand, Jax has launched himself at the boy, punching him.

"My angel!" The other mother screeches, running forward. The boy Perry has burst into tears, while Jax wipes dirt off his face. "Your devil son just punched him for no reason! You're raising a monster!"

"Are you kidding me?" Gemma demands, putting Jax behind her. "Your kid shoved sand in his face."

"He punched him!" She holds Perry close. "You raised a savage!"

"Yeah." Gemma bares her teeth. "I did."

 **The next time she sees just how fearless he can be.**

"I didn't do anything." Jax protests instantly. Gemma stares at him in disbelief. He's sporting a nice black eye, a trail of blood under his nose, a ripped shirt, and a rash of bruises.

"Clearly." She gestures for him to spin, trying to get a comprehensive understanding of the damage. Parts of his hair are matted with what looks like sweat, or blood, or dirt. He faces her again, sullen.

"It's not a big deal." He claims.

"Does the other guy look better or worse?" She demands and Jax is quiet for a long moment. "Well?"

"Yeah." He admits. "Yeah, I think I got him pretty good."

"What'd you do?" Gemma asks quietly and wincing, Jax sits.

"Some asshole down at the skatepark." He goes to rub off the blood with a good towel and Gemma smacks his hand away, finding him a rag. "He was being a dick, so I called him out. He threw a punch, I threw one back."

"And then?" Gemma prods.

"And then he started to fight dirty, so I did too." Jax inspects what looks like a bite mark on his arm. "And then I threw him down the half pipe and he stayed down."

"Jax." She's exasperated, but also a little amused.

"What?" He brushes dirt off. "He was like a 30 year old guy hanging out at the skate park. If he wanted to fight a 13 year old, doesn't that say more about him than it does about me?"

"He was how old?" Gemma stops, looking at him.

"I dunno." Jax waves a hand. "Probably like 30. He had grey hair. It was weird."

"Why would you do that?" Gemma questions and Jax shrugs, still finding injuries. "Did anyone else do anything?"

"Nah." Jax hits a scab and blood begins to ooze out. "I handled it mom."

"Clearly." Hiding her smile of pride, Gemma points to the bathroom. "Go, shower off. Then I can see if you're going to need stitches."

"Ok." Jax hops off the stool and goes.

 **He's a man when she finally sees just how vicious he's going to be.**

New men come around the club all the time. It's not usual to see them filter in and filter out. Sometimes they move up to prospecting. Sometimes they even make it into a kutte. Rarely, but it does happen.

Gemma's learned not to pay them too much mind until they get a kutte on their back. Better not to invest a lot of time in a man who could leave after the first shootout. But once they prove their loyalty, then she is happy to step into their role as mother.

She's doing just that at the clubhouse, running drinks, trying to keep the general peace, when suddenly, someone grabs her arm.

"Hey," He slurs, as Gemma tries to figure out who the hell he is. "Get me a beer."

"Ha." Gemma tries to pull herself from his grasp. "You wish. Let go."

"I said," He over-enunciates the words. "Get me. A beer."

"And I said let go." Gemma yanks herself free. "You can get your own fucking beer."

"Mouthy whore." He says, shoving her. "Remember your place and get me a damn beer, bitch."

"Whoa." Jax appears almost as if from thin air. "What'd you call her?"

"A whore." The man smirks. "She won't get me a fucking beer."

"And you think that's what she's here for?" Jax demands.

"Aren't they all?" He gestures to the various strippers and crow eaters.

"This," Jax points to her. "Is Gemma. Gemma Teller Morrow, you dumb fuck. She's Clay's old lady, and my goddamn mother. So maybe you should have some fucking respect!"

"Please." He rolls his eyes. "She's not any better than any other slut here."

That seems to be the last straw, as Jax launches himself at him, slamming the nearly full beer bottle over his head before punching him, bringing him to his knees. What follows is a flurry of punches and kicks, until the man is nearly comatose, bloodied and groaning.

Other club members have to pull Jax off him, yelling for him to calm down. Jax fights them too, until they finally get him far enough away to calm down. No one notices Gemma, standing off to the side, her mouth curled up in a wicked smile.

 **AN:** So if you've read my next gen story (First Son, Cursed Son) you know that I love Brooke and Rat so much I marry and give them three kids. Hey, leave a review cause I love them?


	83. Season 7- Poor Little Lambs

_Why Gemma talks to Tara_

She never killed Tara. No, her mind doesn't let her think about things like that. No, it throws up a mental block. Protecting her. So instead she has to find new ways to cope.

She talks to Tara. She's still there, even if Gemma can't see her. She needs to talk to her. She can't not. She needs Tara's blessing for the choices that she's making. She robbed Tara of raising her sons.

Her only salvation is the knowledge that Tara must be in heaven. She must. She was an angel. Gemma is going to hell, surely. But Tara? No. She's an angel. She's in those pearly gates, looking down on them.

Gemma knows she probably sounds insane. But it's the only thing that keeps her going, keeps her from spiraling out further into insanity. If she keeps talking to Tara, then she can ignore what she did.

She just wants a sign. Something to show that Tara forgives her. That it's ok. That she understands that all Gemma was trying to do, all she's ever tried to do, is keep her family safe. Keep them by her. Gemma is nothing without family, and Tara knew that. Right?

So she keeps talking to her. She thinks sometimes, that Tara must be talking back. She can hear what she would say. She can picture what she would do. That must mean she is still with them, right? So even if it goes against her entire nature, Gemma does what Tara would do.

She was a good mother. Better than Gemma, maybe. Certainly in her own way she was better. Gemma respects that. But no one can know. No one can know her secrets. Only Tara.

And she has too many secrets to be kept inside. She needs to spill them out or risk bursting. So she does. She spills everything out in one big breath, and then Tara knows. Tara knows everything. Gemma must tell her.

* * *

 _"Maybe Thomas will be a doctor like you. But Abel? I can see it in his eyes. He is his daddy's son. Knows his tribe."_

"Are you excited for the parade?" Wendy asks Abel, as she tugs on Thomas's flag tee-shirt. Abel, already dressed in suitably patriotic gear, nods, beaming. "What are you most excited for, little man?"

"Uh, candy." Abel declares, and Thomas's little face lights up.

"'andy?" He asks, as Wendy pulls his hands through the sleeves.

"Yes, candy." She grins, loving their good moods. "Lots of candy. Are you going to eat all the candy with me?"

"Yes!" Thomas yells excited.

"I love candy." Abel says dreamily. "It's my favorite."

"You mister, are only allowed 5 pieces tonight." Wendy declares and Abel pouts. "You need to get to bed at a decent time tonight. You have soccer in the morning."

"I don't wanna go to soccer." Abel pouts. "I wanna watch fireworks!"

"Then you have to be a big boy tomorrow and you can't be crabby." Wendy bargains, knowing it's futile. Sleepless Abel is bound to be cranky Abel.

"I will!" He promises and she shakes her head, laughing to herself. Who makes promises with 6 year olds?

"Ok, go get shoes on." She sets her fully dressed boys down and they scramble for the entry. Nero has taken Lucius into the city for a weekend over the holiday, leaving Wendy alone to take the boys to the annual 4th of July parade.

"Ready!" Abel declares, as Thomas sits on the floor, determinedly still trying to get the velcro on his shoes.

"Help your brother." Wendy orders, packing the bag full of snacks and Abel squats to finish off Thomas's shoes for him. When Wendy is ready, she looks down on the two eager faces.

"Who wants to have fun?" She questions and they both cheer. She loads them into the car, answering their babbling questions with a smile. Then, finally, they're headed into town.

She spreads a blanket down amongst the other people, letting Thomas and Abel clamber over her, excited. The other children around them are just as thrilled, impatiently waving their bags.

Then, with a wail of fire truck siren, the parade nears them. Thomas shrinks back against her nervously, while Abel leans forward, craning his neck to get a better look. Wendy smiles, reminding him to stay close.

Soon enough, the firetrucks and police cars are within view, officers walking and tossing candy. The promise of candy draws Thomas from her and she watches affectionately as both boys dart into the street, grabbing candy then running back to her to show her the spoils of their adventure.

"Oh, you're going to want to grab them now." The mother nearest her advises, gathering her own children in her arms. "The motorcycles are coming."

"I hear that." Wendy closes her eyes to the sound of the bikes, the sound still sparking pain from losing Jax. Most of the children are scrambling back to the safe haven of their parents' arms. But not Abel.

Thomas sits on her lap, hands over his ears because of the noise, but Wendy watching as Abel leans forward, his little face almost hungry. He watches as the bikers, stoic and clad in leather, slowly rumble past.

Thomas seems mostly unbothered, except for the noise. Abel, on the other hand, is quiet, watching them, enraptured. Some children are crying, hiding their faces in their parents' shoulders. When they are past, Abel turns to her.

"Where's my dad?" He asks suddenly.

"He's in heaven, remember baby?" Wendy says sadly, rocking Thomas back and forth. "Remember, with the angels?"

"Ok." Abel doesn't ask anymore questions, which has been standard for him lately. But he watched the bikes with such intensity that Wendy can't help but be nervous.

(-)

"Ok class, settle down." Abel's teacher orders. "Everyone repeat after- I am in my seat, I am listening, I am in my seat, I am listening…" It takes a couple passes, but finally they're all quiet, waiting on her. "Can someone tell me what we're doing today?"

"Show and tell." They chorus.

"And Annamarie, since it's your day for show and tell, do you want to tell us about it?" She encourages and the young girl, clad in mostly green, with swinging pigtails, bounds to the front.

"My-grandpa-his-name-is-Joe-and-he-rides-a-motorcycle-and-it's-loud-and-scary-and-cool-and-he's-going-to-bring it-in-so-we-can-see-it." She explains in one breath.

"Thank you Annamarie." The teacher says seriously. "So Annamarie's grandma Joe, he's going to bring his motorcycle in for us to see. Form your lines, and we'll go outside."

The chairs scrape against the floor as they all move towards the exit. Abel, by virtue of his first name, is in the front, waiting impatiently as the other kids sort themselves out behind him. Once they've figured it out, they head down the hallway.

Outside, in the parking lot, is a shiny motorcycle and a man with grey hair, smiling indulgently as the kids ooh and ahh over the bike. Annamarie stands the side, smiling smugly as the other students are envious.

"My daddy had one of these." Abel says, to no one is particular. No one seems to hear, or mind. He stands back, trying to make sense of the memories that slip away every single day.

Now, all he remembers is someone tall. Strong. When he was in his arms, he could see the whole world. Cigarette smoke. Sometimes, when his mom smokes but she doesn't want anyone to know, Abel will catch a whiff and remember.

But best of all, he remembers the bikes. The loud noise that meant his daddy was home. Or that one of his uncles, all their faces blurry now, was there. That's all he remembers, but it's enough.

When the motorcycle roars to life, some of the kids scream. Tears are running down Abel's cheeks, and he doesn't know why.

(-)

Some kids rebel by drinking. Some smoke. Some lie or cheat or steal or break curfew. Abel Teller rarely does any of these things, but that's because all it takes for him to rebel is 4.7 miles from their house.

The local Harley-Davidson store. It's close to their house, and on the route home from school. When Abel wants to annoy his mother, needling her into an angry outburst, it's simple. He just turns left instead of right and arrives in the store.

Wendy will inevitably figure it out. It's not like it's a secret or that he's hard to find. He never bothers to hide it. And that's exactly what Wendy hates the most. Abel's not really even sure why.

"Teller-man." Clint, the owner of the store, looks up with a wry smile when Abel walks in. "Come to finally buy a bike?"

"Today's the day." Abel tells him, but it's less truth and more the familiar routine they've developed. Abel keeps up the standard by wandering into the showroom and through the aisles of bikes. Each one is special, but that makes none of them his.

He doesn't quite know what he's looking for, beyond the elusive fact that he'll know it when he sees it. So he wanders and looks and waits. He'll know it when he sees it. Clint follows, observing.

"See what you like yet man?" He asks and Abel shrugs. "Or just that kind of day?"

"That kind day." Abel reflects on his school day. A failed test. A fight with a teacher. Frustration. Now his brother, he flies through school with a breeze. Effortless. He can do it without batting an eye. But every test and quiz is a struggle for Abel. Here's the only place he belongs.

"Buy a bike brother." Clint urges. "Trust me when I say, you won't regret it. You've got that soul."

"And which soul is that?" Abel mutters, looking at the intricate designs on a bike.

"A biker's soul." Clint grins. "You're meant to roam. You don't like being caged. I see it into you, every day that you're here."

"Meant to roam." Abel echoes. "Don't let my mom hear you say that."

"Nah, she knows." Clint insists. "That's why she's so scared. Knows you could get on a bike and never look back."

"No, it's not that." Abel states. "My dad, he died on a bike. She thinks that if I get one, I'll have the same fate."

"Mothers worry." Clint agrees. "That's their jobs. But she's wrong. You being on a bike ain't what's gonna kill you. It's you being off a bike. You need it man. You need it, just like me and the rest of us. Rambler's soul."

"I know." Abel can't contain the sadness in his voice. "I know."

(-)

"So how are you liking it here?" Ken jokes, sitting next to Abel as they smoke a blunt, sitting atop a hillside in Charming. Abel smiles wryly, passing it back to him.

"What, Charming?"

"Nah, the state of California." He says archly. "Yeah Charming you dumb fuck."

"Fuck off." Abel says fondly. "It's alright. I don't mind being here yet."

"Oh, cheers!" Ken rolls his eyes.

"No man, that's an honest compliment." Abel insists. "I've never stayed in one place since I got my bike. No where has ever felt like home. This is the closest place, I guess."

"Why's that?"

"Dunno." Abel shrugs. "Home was never home, despite mom's best efforts. My bike was the closest thing to it, but the second my feet touched ground I just felt… Caged."

"I know what that's like." Ken puts out the butt of the joint. "Like your heart is seven sizes too big for your chest."

"Exactly." Abel looks out over the horizon that raised his father contemplatively. "But here… It might be ok."

"Well I think it goes without saying that we wouldn't mind keeping you." Ken looks uncomfortable with the sentimental shit.

"I know." Abel claps his back. "It's only been a couple weeks and you're my brothers."

"That's the thing about the sons." Ken plays with his kutte absentmindedly. "Once you're in, you're family."

"Family." Abel smiles at the word. "Yeah, that's what this is."

* * *

 _Tig and Rat in the future_

"I fucking hate this." Tig hisses.

"I fucking hate you." Rat mutters back without missing a beat. "Stop complaining old man."

"Call me old man again and I'll shove this wrinkly face so far up your ass when you start screaming, it's gonna be my voice that comes out."

"I don't have time for your weird sexual fantasies right now Tig."

"Shut up, that might be our guy." Tig goes abruptly serious, pointing out the man dressed in a gray suit. Rat falls quiet, both of them watching as he talks on a cell phone, smokes a cigar, puts it out, hangs up, and disappears back inside the building.

"Think that's our guy?" Rat mutters and Tig frowns.

"Not sure. Didn't see that tattoo on the neck they told us to look out for. You?"

"No." Rat shakes his head. "But at least we know his schedule."

"Yeah, here every Thursday, usually be 10 am." Tig glances at the clock. "And leaves by 2. Meaning he should be out… Now." A black Audi pulls out of the warehouse, so Tig puts their car into drive, tailing him. They're not more than five minutes back into town when Tig resumes his whining. "And I'm still fucking hungry."

"Oh my god." Rat slaps the wheel. "You're worst than my fucking three year old man!"

"Good." Tig says stoutly. "Take me to McDonald's daddy."

"Don't fucking call me daddy ever again." Rat orders firmly. "You could be my dad you dip shit."

"I would like it if you called me daddy." Tig says thoughtfully and Rat stifles a groan.

"Stop being fucking weird."

"Feed me."

"I'll feed you this fucking cock if you don't shut the hell up."

"Oh, yes, daddy."

"Ok, that's enough." Rat lets go of the wheel to try and choke Tig out, making them serve. Tig yells and laughs, trying to get ahold of the wheel to put them back on the road.

"We're gonna fucking lose him!" He protests and Rat let's him go, sitting back down and taking the wheel. "Crazy bastard."

"You're fucking agitating, that's what it is." Rat grumbles. "Anyone forced to deal with your ass day in and day out would turn crazy."

"Shut up, you love me." Tig grins shamelessly. "Don't be a little bitch. Hurry up. Drive. We're losing him. C'mon. Let's go."

"Fuck you! Fuck you!"

Tig roars with laughter while Rat fumes.

* * *

 _Tig and Venus_

"I must express, I was rather surprised when you called." Venus tells him, looking down into her coffee.

"Why's that?" Tig asks, genuinely surprised.

"I didn't think a man of your… Occupation… Would want to be seen with a woman like me in such a public arena." Venus looks around at the bustling coffee shop.

"Nonsense." Tig sips his black coffee. "I thought you liked coffee."

"Well, I do." Venus hides a smile. "When did I tell you that?"

"I think you might have mentioned it." Tig shrugs.

"I'm sure I did." Venus is giving him an odd look. "But for you to remember it?"

"Hey." Tig holds up a finger. "You know I like you."

"Do you?" She blushes.

"That's why I bought you coffee." Tig says, as thought it should be obvious.

"So does that make this a date?" Venus asks carefully.

"Sure." Tig reaches out and takes her hand. "Let's call this a date."

Neither of them seem to notice what an odd couple they make. Tig, with his dark hair, skulls, kutte, and scuffed up boots with the hints of what could be blood. And Venus, dressed in a tight wrap dress, dark with the pattern of red roses, with high boots and a red purse. They don't see the stares. They are too busy being enraptured in each other.

"So you know all of the dirty details of my past," Venus swirls her empty coffee. "Tell me yours."

"What about it?" Tig focuses his attention on shredding the cap to his coffee.

"I want to know you." Venus says gently and Tig glances up at her. "I want to know the real you, Alexander."

"I'm pretty fucked up." Tig warns.

"I think I know what that's like." Venus says dryly and Tig can't help but smile.

"You know, everyone thinks I've got all this fucked up shit in my past, to make me like this." He says thoughtfully. "But it's really not that true. My family didn't do bad shit to me, they just… Ignored me."

"How so?" Venus presses and Tig shrugs.

"Neither of my parents cared much to have me. I don't think any of them wanted me. They'd leave me with my grandparents a lot, but when you're old like that, do you want to raise kids?" He points out. "So mostly I did my own thing."

"Did you have any siblings? Cousins?" Venus asks and Tig shakes his head.

"Nah, none. So they let me raise myself basically. You get into a lot of trouble that way." He says wryly.

"I can imagine." Venus smiles. "Especially for a child with your imagination."

"Yeah, well," Tig waves a hand. "By the time I was old enough to realize that they didn't give a shit about me, I didn't give a shit about them."

"So what'd you'd do?" Venus leans forward, intrigued.

"Joined up." Tig shrugs. "Seemed like an ok sort of thing to do. Get out, see the world. Not like I had a family that cared if I came back or not. Except a young kid, never had to deal with authority before, joining the Marines?"

"I take it you may have butted heads with a drill sergeant or two." Venus predicts.

"Or seven or eight." He snorts. "That'll get you kicked out eventually."

"Then what?" Venus rests her hand on his arm.

"Then I wandered." He admits. "Got arrested. Got arrested again. There was a thing, with some cows, we don't need to get into it."

"No, I think we should." Venus teases, smiling and Tig shakes his head, but he's got a smile as well.

"Then I made my way here. Club had all the things I was looking for. A bunch of brothers. Respected me. Saw my skills as valuable, not deplorable. Gave me everything. They saw me, really saw me." Tig looks up at her. "Like you."

"You're the kind of man worth looking for." She says softly and both of them are quiet, basking in the golden glow of two souls sharing mutual affection and desire. Finally, Tig checks the time and sighs.

"I better get back. I'm sure Jax has something else for me to do." He says, with a hint of regret.

"Are you sure?" Venus rubs his knuckles.

"Yeah." Tig flips his hand over, capturing her own, and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, eyes fixed on hers. "But this was wonderful."

"It really was." Venus squeezes his hand. "I wouldn't mind doing it again."

"Yeah, me either." Tig smiles as they both rise. "Until next time, Venus."

"Until next time, Alexander." She watches as he departs, getting on his bike and raising a hand as he departs. She raises one as well, then watches him depart, beaming.

 **AN:** Abel is still my all time fav, just in case anyone every thought differently. And Tig and Rat. I do love them. Know what else I love? Reviews!


	84. Season 7- Some Strange Eruption

_Jarry sleeps with Chibs_

It's not often that Agatha Jerry regrets her past. It usually gives her a unique insight into what criminals may do. She can predict when they might run, or hide, or take a stand. It makes her a better cop. It makes her a better leader.

It does not, however, come without it's pitfalls. They include patterns and habits she cannot shake. It includes attraction to men that she should not be attracted to. Of course, that only adds to their appeal.

She's tried normal, several times. With a fellow beat cop, when she first started out. It'd flamed out in three months when he started talking about kids and marriage and buying a house. She'd ran for it and never looked back.

She'd dated older, thinking that maybe it was maturity that was the missing factor. When that'd flopped, she dated younger, trying for the exact opposite. There was never anything that compared.

She likes danger. She likes rough. She likes the element of surprise, of anticipation. She can't live without it, and the only time it's sated is when she's chasing down the type of people she once was.

So it's with this knowledge that she greets Chibs. She knows, the second she sees him, that she is in for trouble, and a lot of it. She hides it, of course, but she's not stupid. She knows herself. She knows what's coming.

The scars. That's what draws her in the most. She loves scars. She loves that there's stories there, that he isn't the kind of man who's going to talk credit scores and mortgages.

Then the eyes. They follow her, sharp and shrewd. People usually think criminals are stupid, lazy. She knows the exact opposite to be true. Chibs probably has a higher IQ than most of her force.

And the accent. Oh, the accent. Is there a woman on this earth that could resist as accent like that. She doesn't bother to lie to herself. When a man like that growls at her with an accent like that, she's putty.

She knows it won't end well. It can't. At the end of the day, she's still the sheriff and he's still the outlaw and they're always going to come from different worlds. Push will come to shove and on their dime or not, she'll uphold the law and he'll pick the club over her.

But it doesn't mean that she's not attracted to him. Very attracted. And he's like a bad itch- she can't resist scratching it. She can't resist him. And damn, the sex is good.

* * *

 _Lyla missing Gemma_

"And you're not even my real mom! I hate you!" Ellie screams, slamming the door and Lyla looks at the closed door helplessly.

"Wow, she really hates you." Piper says casually, not looking up from the video game that he and Ken are playing.

"Was I really that strict?" Lyla questions and Piper shrugs.

"You took her phone away because she was sending nudes. I don't think that's fair. All the other girls at school do it." Piper tells her.

"That doesn't mean she gets to!" Lyla protests.

"You're a porn star. You make money off of being naked." Piper retorts.

"But she's 16." Ellie glares at her son. "She is a minor. Do either of you have pictures of girls on your phones?"

"No." Both boys chorus, a little too quickly.

"Hand them over." Lyla orders, outstretching her hands. "Now."

"Why?" Piper finally pauses the video game. Neither of them hand over their phones, defiant.

"Because I'm the mom." Lyla snaps. "Even yours, Ken Winston. And I pay the bills on those. So hand them over or see just how much fun they are when you can't use them."

"You're a bitch!"

"This is unfair!"

"You can't do this!"

"Mom, no!"

After protesting for a couple minutes, Lyla inevitably has three smart phones in the palm of her hands, and three sullen teenagers that have locked her out of their rooms. She doesn't care. She sits in her bedroom and unlocks their phones. Then she grabs her laptop and opens Google.

 _'How to find hidden pictures on your teen's phone.'_

 _'Where do kids hide pictures?'_

 _'Finding naughty pictures on a kid's phone.'_

She's boggled at how many apps are out there, designed for this purpose especially. Ellie hadn't bothered to do so, all her pictures in her camera roll. But each boy has two apps each dedicated to this purpose. She opens them up and gasps.

Nudes, of teenage girls. Some shows faces. Most don't. Some have underwear on, cute thongs or panties. Some are completely nude. Some pose strategically. All are younger than 18, Lyla has no doubt about that.

"What the fuck?" She whispers to herself. "What the actual fuck? What the fuck?"

She bursts into the boy's room without remorse. They're on their beds, playing with their handheld gaming systems, sulking. They look up at her unannounced entrance, startled. Usually she's good at respecting their space.

"Gimme." She snatching away the devices, then looks around the room. "Where's your remote?"

"You're taking away our TV?" Ken demands, stunned.

"Everything." Lyla finds the remote in the sock drawer. "Your school laptops stay locked up with me. You use them to do homework, you finish, I get them back. Don't worry though. Your sister has the same punishment."

"Why are you being so awful?" Piper bursts. "They're just pictures!"

"They are a felony!" Lyla bursts. "It is child porn and it is illegal! Don't you realize what this does to young girls? Don't you care? Did I raise disrespectful little shits?" She stops and takes a deep breath. "You're all grounded. How long? Till I say you're not."

Then she storms out, unable to look at them any longer. She collapses down in her room, looking at the mass of electronics. How the hell does she parent in this day and age, she wonders.

She doesn't miss Opie is this moment. Honestly, it's not like he would've made much of a difference. Maybe he would've added intimidation factor, but it's not like that would be a huge help.

No, moments like this, she misses Gemma. She'd know what to do. She'd pull Lyla into a hug, tell her she was doing great, and that being a mom sometimes means wondering how the hell you can do this anymore. That kids will be kids and sometimes that means being little demons.

She takes a deep breath, reminding herself not to cry, and goes to make supper.

* * *

 _"Do you take care of all these people?" "It's my job to keep them safe."_

Abel takes a deep breath, looking out over the balcony. When they'd decided to expand on the clubhouse, they'd had no room to go but up. The bedrooms now reside on the second floor, overlooking the bar space. It's here he comes, when he needs some space to clear his head.

"Hey." Willow says softly, from behind him, and he doesn't turn. She places a hand at the small of his back, standing next to him.

"Hey." He mutters back. They are both quiet, watching the commotion below. Crow eaters are serving drinks, while members of SAMCRO and other charters eat and drink. Some play pool. Some watch TV. Amongst them are kids, playing.

"Why don't you come down and join?" Willow asks, stroking his back.

"Just needed a second." He tells her and she slips her hand up beneath his kutte and shirt.

"It's a little overwhelming?" She guesses. "We all know you're going to do a good job. Rat wouldn't have given you the president patch if everyone didn't believe it."

"I know they all think I'm going to do great." He doesn't meet her eyes. "It's me that's having some doubts."

"I know that." Willow squeezes his hip. "That's what makes you such a great leader. You understand the scope of it."

"I don't think I did, before this moment." He mutters. "All these people Wills, all of them… I'm responsible for them."

"Yeah, you are." She says honestly, not bothering to sugar coat it. "You're going to be the one to tell them what to do. You're going to make the hard calls. But honey, they're still people. They still have free will. They can still make their own choices. You're no more responsible for what they do than you are for me. The only humans you're truly responsible for are outside, probably causing mayhem."

"If they're causing any mayhem, they learned that from you." Abel jokes and Willow smiles at the emergence of his humor.

"They get it from both of us, let's be realistic." She rests her head against his arm.

"You know what I wonder the most during days like this?" He asks her quietly and she looks up at him.

"What's that baby?"

"What would my dad have said? What would he have done? Would he have been proud? Would he have understood? Offered advice? Wisdom? Did he ever question this? Did he ever worry?" Abel looks down at her. "And what he would've thought of you."

"He would've loved me, everyone does." Willow says promptly.

"Good point." Abel laughs and kisses her head. "God, Im so lucky I have you."

"Yeah, you are." She kisses his cheek. "Now get down there, pres. People are waiting on you. And you're gonna do great."

* * *

 _Abel's protective instincts_

"I'm sorry, he what?" Nero is having a hard time understanding the words from the guidance counselor.

"Well, he pushed a child off the slide." Mr. Munser, the counselor, looks slightly uncomfortable. "How did you say you were related to Abel?"

"I'm not." Nero says easily. "I help raise him with a friend. She's got my kid at a hospital appointment, you'll see that I'm listed as an emergency contact on his forms."

"No, no, it's all in order." He pats the aforementioned forms. "That's not an issue. It's just… Abel expresses some… Unique tendencies."

"Man, don't bullshit me." Nero orders, fed up with the dance. "Tell me what you mean."

"Fine." Mr. Munser takes off his glasses, giving Nero a stern look. "Abel exhibits traits of aggression. He frequently will hit, kick, push, shove, etc."

"Ok, yes." Nero rubs his temples. "Well Abel, he had a bit of a difficult childhood, we're working through it in therapy, but—"

"I wasn't done." He says shortly and Nero goes quiet, waiting. "My other point was that while Abel is aggressive, yes, he never acts out unless provoked in a very certain manner. Abel… For lack of better words, is often protecting others. For example, the child who he pushed today was seen smacking a smaller boy in the class."

"Oh." Nero leans back. "Yeah, we're working on that. I told you, the trauma when he was a kid, it manifests in things like that."

"So you can see how while I am hesitant to discipline him for such behavior, I also cannot tolerate it."

"Completely." Nero puts his hands up. "Let me talk to him."

"Alright." Mr. Munser offers his hand. "Thank you Mr. Padilla. He's waiting for you outside, feel free to take him home."

"I will, thank you." Nero bobs his head and then gets up, heading out. Abel is sitting on a bench outside the office, sulking and kicking his heels. "Alright little man, let's go."

"Am I in trouble?" He asks instantly, grabbing his backpack and hastily following Nero.

"I'll decide when we get in the car." Nero tells him and Abel is quiet. Nero gathers Thomas from his classroom, and the little boy is happy to leave school early, but quickly senses that something is up. Once they're strapped into the truck, Abel timidly repeats,

"Am I in trouble?"

"Abel," Nero says tiredly. "What were you thinking?"

"He was being mean!" Abel insists quickly. "He was hitting Joseph and he's really little."

"Really little." Thomas echoes, nodding in affirmation.

"So I pushed him." Abel is defiant, shamelessly so. "He deserved it."

"Abel," Nero is fast losing his patience. "You can't beat people up, even if they do deserve it. It's now how the world works."

"No." Abel juts his chin out. "But you and mommy alway say that I should stand up for kids that's can't. And Joseph is my friend!"

"How does a 9 year old have better logic than me?" Nero mutters to himself. "Abel, buddy, I know you think you're protecting people. And that's great. But you can't hurt other kids."

"Ok." Abel still shows no remorse. "I promise I won't anymore."

"Ok, good." Nero doesn't believe a word out of his mouth.

(-)

"Hey." Willows arms snake around his waist and he smiles, looking down at her sweet face. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and she's beaming. All key indicators that she's drunk, and well past buzzed.

"Hello." He drops a kiss on her forehead. "How are you sweetie?"

"So good." She squeezes. "But I have to go potty. Will you get me another drink?"

"Do you need another drink?" He teases and she pouts.

"Pretty please?"

"Only cause you're so damn cute when you're drunk." He informs her.

"And handsy." With a wicked grin, Willow slips through the crowd. Abel watches as she goes, smiling fondly. He thought, before his first visit, that he was going to hate trips to Willow's university. But now, after three years, he finds they're actually pretty fun.

He talks to Carter and Brock, Willow's good friends, trading jokes with them. They rate girls based on hotness. They take shots. Eventually Abel notices that Willow hasn't returned and he frowns, looking out over the crowd.

It doesn't take long for him to spot her. She hasn't made it far from the bathroom, chatting and talking with friends. That doesn't worry him. Willow is sociable, especially when she's drunk. He's worried about the knot of guys that stand between him and her.

He's seen this before. Guys in packs. One skinny, pretty girl, who tips slightly and occasionally puts her words in the wrong place. He knows what's going to happen and it sets his blood racing. He steps away from the bar at the same moment Willow ends her conversation, walking towards the knot.

"Hey, girl, c'mere for a second." A guy reaches out, grabbing Willow's arm, halting her and Abel hates how far away he is.

"No thanks." Willow tries to pull away. They're paying her just a little too much attention and Abel roughly shoves someone out of his way.

"C'mon, you can talk to us girl. What's your name? Where you from?"

"Let me go." Willow states clearly.

"I ain't keeping you here." He assures her, but his grip still doesn't relax and there's only a few more bodies between him and her. "Just wanna talk. Don't be a bitch."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah." They all chorus.

"I don't—" Then Willow spots him and stops struggling. Instead, a smile crosses her faces. "Oh, you're all so fucked."

"Why?" The one holding her frowns, and in that moment, Abel reaches her.

"Because I'm her boyfriend asshole, and I'm not afraid to knock your ass out." Abel growls, appearing in front of them. With his kutte, the knife on his hip, and biker boots, he cuts an imposing figure.

"Oh yeah?" He bluffs, but finally his grip is light enough that Willow can wrench her arm free. She moves in a breath to Abel's side.

"Come on. It's not worth it." She whispers in his ear.

"Willow, do you know what they were going to do?" He asks her seriously.

"Yes." She's breathless, gazing up at him. "Yes, and they didn't. That's what's important. C'mon, I wanna go home."

"Willow." He protests, but she tangles her fingers in his belt loops and tugs.

"Let's go home. Nothing happened. You protected me, see? I'm fine. Just fine. Come home." She pleads and he's carefully to wrap his arms around her pointedly, glaring at the men over her shoulder.

"If I hear anything happened to any girl here tonight, I will hunt you all down." He promises. "You won't like the things I do either."

"I love you." Willow whispers as they head for the door and Abel looks down at her, her perfect face and a rush of protectiveness surges through him.

"I love you too." He says gruffly. "So much."

* * *

 _When Gemma decides to kill Juice_

She sits at the intersection in the dark. Juice is asleep in the seat next to her, exhausted and unraveled. Her choice should be simple. Turn left, and follow the familiar route back home. But she still hesitates.

Juice is the only one who knows. For better or for worse. Everyone else who knows the truth about Tara's murder is dead. And Juice has been on edge lately. Desperate to get back. What if he tells Jax? Let's something slip?

For so long, Gemma has operated alone. Protect her boys. Protect the club. That's all that matters. She let Tara in, and look how well that went. It's better when no one knows. If nothing else, it would let her sleep at night safely.

But that's another death to add to her consciousness. How many does that make? Dozens? Double that? Or is she guilty by association for everything the clubs done? Because then she's in the hundreds. Maybe more. Who could keep count?

Could she really kill Juice? God, he was still a baby when he came here. A sweet, naive little baby. She practically raised him alongside Jax. He was so sweet, innocent. He just wanted love and approval. He was a good kid. He made a good Son.

But he's been compromised. And Jax wants him dead. So if Gemma just handled that problem first, who could blame her? No one would ever know. A kid, abandoned by the only people who had ever treated him as family. That would send anyone into a suicidal tailspin, right?

It would keep her secrets safe. It would prevent the club, and more importantly Jax, from ever finding out. Three can keep a secret if two are dead…

Besides, a bullet to the head. Simple. Easy. Painless. Nothing like Tara. He'd never feel it. It'd probably be a blessing for him. Not having to feel anything anymore. Not having to live through the regret and pain of the Mayhem vote. He'd welcome it.

That's what she tells herself, as she turns right. She has to justify this. Because Gemma is no stranger to taking people's lives. But lately, it's felt all too intimate. All too real. All too painful. She doesn't want to do it anymore.

Last one, she tells herself. Last one, and then all her secrets will be dead and buried. She'll be safe. Everything will settle back down. She steels herself and drives.

 **AN:** Oh man, lots of Willow and Abel. Maybe I need to actually do a proper follow up there? We'll see. Reviews!


	85. Season 7- Smoke 'em if you got 'em

_Gemma's outfits_

She starts with the shoes. Always with the shoes. They're her favorite part of the outfit. Gemma has very strict requirements when it comes to her shoes. No heels lower than 3 inches. Black, always. Stiletto heels are good, but chunky heels are better for day to day wear. If they have spikes, studs, skulls, anything of the sort, all the better. Heels make her feel sexy. Heels make her feel powerful.

Then comes the pants. Gemma works her ass off, literally, to pour herself into her jeans. Even pregnant, she was never bigger than a size 8, her pride and joy. They have to be dark, and tight. She knows her legs are a draw for men. She knows that's what their eyes follow when she walks through a crowd. She knows how to accentuate them.

Tops are tight too. Sheer. Black. Sometimes sparkly. Often not. And leather, leather is favorite. Screw the California heat. Gemma doesn't care. She's acclimated over the years. She opens her closet and is greeted by the sight of black, wall to wall. Everything is low cut, meant to show off ample cleavage. Gemma knows what she has to do, especially to keep up with the growing crowd of young girls at the club.

Her jewelry can vary. Usually her pendent necklace, layered with one her father gave to her as a young girl. Only when she feels vulnerable though. Her finger still feels naked not wearing the rock Clay gave to her. Occasionally she'll feel it's absence and losing him will rush over her again. She'll feel regret and horror and sadness all at once, overwhelming her.

Her hair and makeup haven't changed since she was first married to John. Like war paint. Everything she wears is like a suit of armor for her. Nothing to show her vulnerability. On the days when she doesn't want to get herself out of bed, she pulls on the costume of the biker queen, and remembers that this is her job.

* * *

 _"I see you around the boy. That should feel good."_

"Hey buddy." Wendy's heart still swells when she sees Abel. He's quiet, coloring at the table. She can't believe how big he is. How handsome he is, from his blond hair to his blue eyes, to the little crooked smile that reminds her so much of Jax.

"Hi." He says quietly, not looking up. He's intent on coloring, and Wendy watches as the scene forms.

"What's this?" She asks, pointing to a dark dot in the sky.

"A crow." Abel explains and she struggles not to make a noise. Of course, that's fitting. He listens to them more than they know.

"Is that the sun?" She points to the orange blob in the corner.

"Yeah." He scribbles down a tree. "But it's sad."

"Why is it sad?" Wendy questions.

"Because it goes away every night." He tells her.

"Yeah, but it always comes back." Wendy reminds him, smoothing his hair back.

"Ok." He mutters and she frowns, quietly watching the rest of his pictures. He draws a house, then sits back. "Done."

"Are you?" Wendy looks at the total scene. A sky. A sun, a crow, a few trees, and a house. "Where are the people?"

"No one lives there." He's gathering up his crayons. "They all went away."

"Where did they go?" Wendy asks worriedly.

"I don't know." Abel shrugs. "With mommy."

"Abel," Wendy kneels next to him, taking his hands, trying to get his attention. "You know that when people leave, they don't leave like your mommy."

"They don't come back." Abel says plainly and Wendy sighs.

"I know honey. But no one else is going to leave, ok?"

"Ok." Abel clearly doesn't understand, but he's lost interest in the conversation, and he hops off the chair. "I'm going to go play with Tommy now."

"Abel." Wendy says helplessly, but he's already gone. She sighs, rubbing her forehead.

"What's up?" Lyla asks her, wandering over.

"Abel drew this." Wendy hands her the picture.

"It's good, for a kid." Lyla looks it over.

"Yeah, that's not why I'm worried." Wendy points to the empty space. "I asked him to put people by the house. He said they left. Like his mommy."

"Shit." Lyla looks at her, alarmed. "That's some deep shit for a little kid."

"You're telling me." Wendy looks at the picture bleakly. "I think we should put him in therapy, but you know Gemma would sooner cut off her right hand than do that."

"Yeah." Lyla snorts. "We don't do therapy."

"I just want to do what's best for him." Wendy says helplessly, watching as Abel plays with trucks with Thomas. "You know? Like she would've. But I'm not like her. I don't know how to help."

"You're here." Lyla pats her back. "That's enough. Jax appreciates it, I know he does. It's just a rough time. Keep loving him, you'll get through it."

"Who, Jax or Abel?" Wendy jokes.

"Both." Lyla gives her a wry smile. "They'll come around. But therapy might not be a bad idea."

"No," Wendy sighs heavily. "I don't think it would be."

"Wendy!" Abel calls and she looks up.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Will you come play?" He requests and her face splits into a smile.

"Of course baby!"

"See?" Lyla nudges her. "We're getting there."

* * *

 _Gemma's view of teenage Jax and Tara_

She sits at the kitchen table, looking down at her nearly empty coffee cup. It's nearly 2:30 in the morning, and she should be asleep. She should be with Clay. She shouldn't be up. Jax is a grown boy. He is completely able to make his own decisions and choices.

But she can't help herself. Not now, not during such a critical time. She needs to talk to Jax. She needs reassurance, and the only person who can give it to her is her son, so she sits and waits.

When the door finally opens, she rises. Jax strides in, then spots her. He stops, tilting his head in confusion as he sets his key beside the door, pulling off his sweatshirt.

"Hey, what are you still doing up?" He asks her curiously.

"Wanted to talk to you." She admits, putting out her last cigarette.

"You could've done that in the morning." He jokes. "No need to stay up on my account."

"We just haven't talked much lately." She admits.

"What is it mom?" He asks tiredly. "I'd like to go to bed."

"How come you aren't staying at Tara's?" She doesn't mean for it to come out like an accusation, but it does. Jax raises his eyebrows.

"Didn't feel like waking her up after club shit." He says carefully. "Why?"

"I've been hearing stuff Jax." She folds her arms. "Things about that girl."

"Mom." Jax rests his head on his forearms, bending over the counter. "We've talked about this. I know you don't love Tara, but I'm not gonna sit around when you talk shit about her."

"I'm not." Gemma insists. "I'm just sharing valid worries a mother can have. Jax, she is a bad influence on you."

"Yes, the worst influence." Jax smiles wryly. "What, with the whole valedictorian thing."

"That's what I mean." Gemma snarls. "She thinks she's better than us."

"When has she ever said that?" Jax pushes back. "Never. Tara doesn't have a mean bone in her body."

"Yeah." Gemma snorts. "That's what she wants you to think."

"No, that's what I know." Jax states flatly. "Mom, are you being crazy?"

"No." Gemma insists, stung. "I just… You spend a lot of time with her Jackson. I don't want that getting in the way of the club."

"Oh my god." Jax groans. "I knew that's what this was all about. You are being crazy."

"Well," Gemma draws upon all her calm to not slap her son. "I just see you two for what it actually is. She's obsessive, and clingy. She's warping your brain."

"I love her." Jax states, quickly losing patience. "She's not warping anything. What you see is what you want to see, because you can't bear the idea that someone else can love me like you do."

"No one will ever love you like me." Gemma snaps. "I am your mother!"

"And she is my girlfriend." Jax tries to move past her. "Can I go to bed now?"

"Promise me you won't leave me for her." Gemma is begging now, groveling, the her worst and lowest fear revealed. Jax stops in his tracks, sighs heavily, and turns back to her.

"Goodnight mother." He says pointedly, kissing her forehead.

"That's…" She trails off as Jax disappears down the hall and into his bedroom. Then she leans against the wall and slides down, trying to hold back tears. What is he does? Tara has that power, Gemma sees it now. She no longer holds all of her son's heart, and that breaks her's.

* * *

 _Chibs hates the AB because of his daughter_

"I hate these nazi bastards." Chibs mutters darkly.

"Yes, we know." Clay puts out his cigarette. "But we're calling a truce. I want them out of Charming and I want it bloodless. Unser's already on my ass for the Mexicans."

"That wasn't really our fault." Tig says thoughtfully.

"Tell the DA that." Clay reminds him and they get on their bikes, heading for a rundown barn of the outskirts of town. Inside, waiting for them, in the bed of a rusted out pickup, sits 7 white men, covered in tattoos.

"Well hiya boys." Tig takes off his sunglasses, grinning at them.

"You Clay?" The biggest one says distrustingly, eyeing Clay, who carefully gets off his bike.

"I am." He gives them his most charming smile. "You must be, ah, what was it? Shocker?"

"Your mama give you that name?" Bobby asks curiously and he glares.

"No, it's a nickname."

"Shocker." Chibs mutters and a few of them snort in laughter.

"Look," Clay quickly takes control of the situation again. "We came unarmed. We don't want any bad blood. So let's call a truce."

"Why'd we call a truce with you?" He demands.

"Cause we hate brown just as much as you." Clay is lying through his teeth, but he's counting on the stupidity of them to be his saving grace. "And black. So you keep your shit out of Charming, and we keep a peace."

"How can we trust you?" He questions and Clay just grins.

"Because we're pretty white boys, just like you."

"Search them." Shocker orders and two of his smaller men get down, coming to pat them down. They clear Bobby and Clay, going through their wallets and tossing them aside. Chibs goes rigid, knowing what they'll find in his.

"What's this?" The one opens his wallet and a picture of Kerrianne flutters out. He picks up, examining it and Clay sighs heavily.

"Don't you fucking touch that." Chibs growls.

"Ain't she a little young for you?" He asks, looking at Chibs then back at the picture. Kerrianne is about 11 or so, grinning at the camera. She's on a bridge, wearing dark jeans and a simple top. Fiona's writing is scrawled on the back-

'K, in Paris. Miss you.'

"Oh, hell." Bobby sighs heavily.

"Wait." Apprehension is finally dawning on his face. "Is this little mud baby yours? You fucked a—" He doesn't get to finish his sentence, on account of Chibs head butting him. With a shout, the barn quickly dissolves into a brawl.

"I said bloodless!" Clay bellows, when Chibs sends man through the walls. "Bloodless!"

"Sorry boss." Tig pants, trying to make his way back to his bike, where weapons are stored. After a scuffle, guns are finally drawn, aimed.

"Look, gentlemen." Clay is spitting blood. "Let's not fight."

"Oh, is that not what we were doing?" Bobby comments.

"We don't make deals with fathers of mud babies." Shocker declares and Chibs grimaces.

"I'm gonna advise you to stop calling his daughter that." Tig says politely. "You see, he really doesn't like it."

"We don't make deals with nigga-lovers!" One shouts from the back and Chibs gestures with his gun.

"Fine, fine." Clay decides. They open fire, dodging the retaliation. The shootout can't last more than a couple minutes, but eventually it winds down into dead skinheads and Chibs carefully picking the picture up out of the dust.

"It ok?" Tig asks, nudging a dead body.

"Aye." Chibs tucks it into his wallet again. "She's as beautiful as ever."

"Sorry they said those things brother." Clay claps him on the back.

"Sorry for it being bloody." Chibs sidesteps a growing pile of blood.

"It's fine." Clay works to clear up their tracks. "Bunch of dead nazis, who's going to care? Long as this doesn't blow back on our club, I think the less of these in the world the better."

"She's a beautiful girl." Bobby mutters to Chibs. "Don't let them into your head."

"Aye." Chibs says heavily. "We ought to clean up."

"Yeah." Bobby looks at the pile of dead bodies. "That's probably necessary."

 **AN:** If y'all don't think I love Chibs more than anything, you're wrong. Also, I was asked what my plan was for this once it was completed- it's done! I have a few one shots I might publish separately, but it was my goal to get through all 99 episodes and once I do, I'm closing this down. Review while you have the chance?


	86. Season 7- Greensleeves

_Jax spray painting JT's rock_

"Hey." He stands in the doorway to Opie's bedroom, looking a little wild eyed.

"Hey." Opie looks up at him with concern. Jax has been a little self destructive of late and Opie and Gemma both have taken notice. "What's up?"

"I want to go visit my dad." Jax states and Opie jumps up.

"Ok." He says instantly. "We can go to his grave."

"No." Jax closes his eyes like he's in pain. "Not there. Somewhere else."

"Ok, where?" Opie asks and Jax says nothing, just hands him a notebook, opened to a page filled with the scribbled writings of Jax. Opie sits, and begins to read.

 _'Why do humans put their dead behind a tombstone and call it a resting place? The dead don't rest there. Their bodies may, but how often do humans, living breathing humans, visit the graveyards where they will be buried?_

 _Why would a soul rest in a place that it has never been? Why would it not be in the place it's most familiar with- houses, work, the like? Why would it not rest in the place where they died? Graveyards are more for the living than they ever are for the dead._

 _My father does not rest beneath the stone that bears his name. He never has. I will not feel him there, this I know to be true. So where can he be?_

 _In the air. In the sky. In the earth, the trees, the roads, the crows. My father, the man, never once set foot on the plot where he is now buried. Why would he? He didn't die. He lived._

 _Humans would be better off honoring their dead where they lived. The dead don't die in graveyards, they die in the world. In their beds, on the roads, behind closed doors, or in the middle of the great outdoors. The whole world is a graveyard, yet we, the living, insist on narrowing it to a few acres of land._

 _We should honor our dead the way they lived. No tombstone can immortalize a life, no matter how big. No crypt can contain their memories that will fade after a few generations. So instead, here we are._

 _Left to remember. Left to honor. My father deserves more than a tombstone. I intend to give it to him.'_

Opie looks up at Jax, who holds up a can of spray paint. Opie wants to ask what his plan is, where they're going, but he decides it's best to stay silent and just support Jax. So he grabs his jacket and keys and follows Jax to his truck.

"Are you sure you want to be going here?" Opie asks, once he realizes where Jax is guiding him. "Are you sure you're ready to see that? Deal with it?"

"Don't be my mother." Jax says tonelessly, staring out the window. "It's not amusing."

"Jesus Christ." Opie mutters, deciding to be quiet and just drive. He slows down when he reaches the spot, watching Jax carefully.

"Here." He says suddenly. Opie pulls over and Jax gets out, glancing both ways for anyone passing by, before shaking the spray can. Opie takes up his watch, making sure no one sees what appears to be two teenage boys defacing the cliffside.

"Jax." He says shortly when a car comes past.

"Yeah." Jax replies and Opie turns to look. Jax is done, looking at his work. It's simple, just the initials, the date, and the anarchy symbol. Opie has to admit, it's fitting for the man who raised them both.

"It's nice." He mutters, as Jax watches the spray paint dry.

"Yeah." Jax tosses the empty bottle into the bed of the truck. "Better than a damn cemetery."

"Yeah." Opie walks up the slight slope, leaning forward and pressing his head to the warm stone. After a second, Jax does the same and the two of them say their true goodbyes to John Teller.

* * *

 _"She went to high school with you son."_

"Oh my gosh, isn't he so hot?" Tammy gushes, watching as the football team parades past.

"Which one?" Candy Eglee jokes, throwing a banana peel aside.

"Does it matter?" Tammy laughs, opening her bag of pretzels. "All of them."

"But if you had your pick, who would it be?" Nancy presses, arriving with her tray of food.

"I guess Tom." Tammy says thoughtfully. "If I really had to pick one of them to take me home."

"Tom, really?" Candy makes a face. "He's such a jerk. He's in my math class, and he always copies off of Sam's papers. Does he even have an independent thought in his brain?"

"No," Tammy says promptly. "So he'll listen to whatever I tell him to do."

"Very nice." Candy rolls her eyes. "Good one."

"I think Joe is pretty hot." Nancy observes as they get in line for food, jostling each other and yelling loudly over the general chaos in the lunchroom.

"Weren't you on a date with Luke like last weekend?" Candy demands.

"Two." Nancy corrects. "But he's boring."

"What about you Can?" Tammy asks curiously. "If you had your pick of the team, who would it be?"

"Ugh, none of them." She plasters an aloof look on her face. "They're all dumb jocks. I want someone who can actually talk to me."

"That might be asking too much from Charming High." Nancy jokes and she laughs along, falling quiet as the conversation moves to something else inane, like prom.

The truth is, Candy Eglee knows exactly who she wants. She's known it since 7th grade, when she had a crush on the cutest boy in the whole middle school.

Jackson Teller. He's only gotten cuter since then too, she reflects. He's lost a little bit of his boyish face, now showing the potential for a handsome young man. And he's taller, muscles more defined.

His personality is what draws her to him. Of course, she knows she's a sucker for his blue eyes and lazy smile. Once, he'd called her darling in that drawling voice and she'd almost melted. She loves his quick wit. She loves the way he questions everything, taking nothing at face value. She is fascinated by him, and he hardly knows her name.

A tale as old as time, she reflects wryly.

When lunch ends, she throws her things in the trash, waves goodbye to Tammy and Nancy, heading towards English, her favorite class of the day. She loves it because reading is great, and fun, but also because Jax sits kitty-corner from her.

"Alright, settle down." Mrs. Andover calls, settling them in. Jax is hanging around the door, laughing with someone in the hallway. "Alright, bell's rang, settle down. Jax, in or out, your choice."

"Sorry." He grins, sliding in front of Candy's desk as he makes his way towards his.

"Thank you all for making it here today." Mrs. Andover says dryly. Candy likes her as a teacher. She doesn't treat them like kids but rather adults, telling them stories and actually caring about their opinions. "It's an honor to get to teacher yet another day. Alright, anyone want to take a stab at what we're going to learn today?"

"Can we read some comics?" Jason yells from the back of the room.

"Wistful thinking, but ambitious. I like it." She says, clapping her hands. "No. We're going to read a short story- it's short, don't groan at me- and then have a discussion. You'll then write me a short essay based on the stance you take during the discussion. Ok, here's the story. Stop whining. I see that face Becca, don't start."

"Thanks." Candy takes the paper from Jax with a smile. He grins back and she quickly looks down at the title. Something about ladies and tigers.

"Ok, read through this. Carefully- really soak it in. When everyone's done, we can start talking. Ok, quiet time, ready, go."

The classroom is silent as they read through it, all of them thoughtful. Mrs. Andover wanders the rooms, checking to see if anyone needs help or has questions. Several people reach the end, a few of them gasping or grumbling. Candy takes it in, finishing it. What would the princess have done, sent her lover to his death or his happiness?

"What the hell?" Jason demands and the class breaks out in snickers.

"Alright." Mrs. Andover waves a hand. "Enough. Thoughts? Who votes she sent him to the tiger?" A generous portion of the class raises their hands. "And who believes the lady?" The other group raises their hands. "Eglee, why?"

"Because love is true and pure." She says, avoiding looking at the back of Jax's head. "And if you love someone, you want them happy even if it hurts you."

"Anyone dispute that?" Mrs. Andover asks and a few hands shoot up. The discussion goes around, but she notices Jax stays silent, writing in his notebook intently. She whispers desperately that she could read it.

When the bell rings, Mrs. Andover yells for them to do the 300 word essay and turn it in tomorrow. She stands, accidentally bumping Jax. He quickly steadies her with a smile.

"Sorry, darlin'."

"I'm ok." She says, a little breathlessly. "So, what do you think? You never spoke up during the debate?"

"About the story?" Jax raises an eyebrow, falling in step with her as they head into the hallway. "I dunno. I guess I don't believe in happy endings."

"Really?" She looks up at him, cheeks on fire.

"No." He gives her a little smile. "Not in real life." Then he's gone, joining Opie and their friends, leaving her a little surprised in the middle of the busy hallway.

* * *

 _Jax tells Juice what he needs to do_

"You know what you're accused of." Jax says flatly, addressing Juice. He stands in the middle of a circle of Sons, head down, defeated.

"Yes." He says quietly.

"And you know you're deserving of any judgement this club decrees." Jax adds.

"Yes." Juice isn't trembling, not yet.

"Do you love SAMCRO?" Jax asks, switching tracks suddenly and Juice looks up in confusion.

"Yes, of course." He says quickly. "With my whole heart and soul."

"You know, you were one of the most passionate patches." Jax muses and Juice dares a glance at Chibs, trying to figure out what's going on. Chibs remains utterly impassive, like the rest of the club. "You would've lived and died for this club, rather than betray us."

"I still would." Juice unravels his tongue enough to finally get more than one word out.

"Would you?" Jax raises an eyebrow, lighting a cigarette. "Really?"

"Yes." Juice's voice is a little stronger now. "Yeah, I would do anything. Anything."

"You would do anything to put that kutte back on." Jax says it as a statement, not a question, so Juice falls silent. "You would live, die, kill for this club. Right?" He raises his eyes to Juice's.

"Right." He says quietly.

"Well then." Jax glances around at the other men. "Maybe we should show some mercy."

"What?" Juice asks, before he can stop himself.

"Mercy." Jax repeats clearly and Happy snorts. "We have a job for you Juice. And when you complete it, you will be a son once more. Redeemed."

"Anything." Juice says instantly. "Anything you need."

"Then we need your help." Jax pauses, puffing on his cigarette. "We need you to get inside. We want you to be the one to murder the man who ruined my life. We need you to kill Lin."

"Ok." Juice agrees without hesitation. What else can he do? "How?"

"I dunno." Jax waves a hand. "You get yourself inside. We can get you protection from the AB. You take a deal with Jarry, get you to him. Once you kill him, the deal with be dead and so will he."

"Ok." It's all Juice can say. He cannot give up Gemma. He cannot give up his lies. He sees that now as his weakness. His path is simple now. He kills Lin, he puts that lie to rest, and he is a son again. All he has to do.

Of course, he doesn't think about what it all means. That even if he gets to Lin and kills him, he'll never leave prison again. He'll be in forever, at the mercy of the ever shifting allies in Jax's chaos. He knows he'll die. He'll never sit on a bike again. But he must, for the slimmest chance of having his family back.

"Alright." Jax puts out his cigarette and stands. "Then we'll talk more once you're inside."

"Here." Chibs says bluntly, tossing him his kutte. Juice puts it on, avoiding their eyes. He's too scared he'll lose his resolve.

"And Juice?" Jax is on his bike. "Not a word about this. To anyone."

"I know." He says hollowly and with a nod, Jax rides off.

* * *

 _"You're the only one who really needs to know." Gemma's legacy on the boys_

"Oh god." Wendy stops in her tracks, holding the bag of groceries. Both Abel and Thomas are sitting on the couch, but neither holds a phone or gaming device, and the TV remains off. "What's wrong?"

"We want to talk." Abel states calmly and Wendy sets the bags on the counter, frowning.

"About?" She asks skeptically.

"Our family." Thomas declares and Wendy hastily turns around to the fridge.

"Can it wait? I have frozen things in here. Come help." She orders and both boys remain where they are. "Guys, come on."

"No." Abel says flatly. "We want to talk about this, now."

"God are you stubborn." Wendy groans. "And impossible. Fine. Help with this and then we can talk about it."

"Ok." Thomas caves first, getting up to help. Abel follows a little slower, still eyeing her distrustingly. Once all the items have been put away, Wendy makes a show of cleaning up the kitchen, trying to drag it out a little longer.

"Mom." Abel says loudly and she sighs.

"Ok fine, let's sit." She shoos them to the couch, taking the ottoman across from them. "Fine, what do you want to know?"

"We want to know why we moved away from Charming." Abel's clearly been preparing for this moment, while Thomas looks more to be along for the ride.

"I told you guys." Wendy rubs her tempers. "Nero offered a place in Norco. It was quieter, simpler, easier than Charming. I thought it could offer you more stability, so we moved. When your father passed away, I didn't see a reason to take you back."

"But that's a lie." Abel pulls out his tablet, handing it to her. Wendy takes it, bewildered as to what he means, before her stomach falls. Pulled up are three separate news articles, dated a few months and then a few days apart. The first one is titled 'Local Doctor and Mother Murdered in Shocking and Brutal Attack.' Wendy is transfixed by the image of Tara.

"Where did you find this?" She mutters, swiping to the next one. 'Former Police Chief and Charming Woman Found Murdered'. The pictures of Gemma and Unser stop her heart. The last one makes her moan. 'Biker Hit by Semi.' She can't scroll down to look at Jax's face.

"It's not hard to do some research into why everyone in your family is dead." Abel says sharply and she looks up at him.

"Abel." The tears are coming now, like they always do when she thinks of Jax and Charming. "Please."

"Mom," Thomas turns on her now. "This is about my dad and my mom and my grandma. I want to know why they died."

"God." The tears are falling down Wendy's checks now. "Oh, god, how can I tell you this? All your life, all I've wanted to do is protect you. Keep you safe. Keep you from knowing all about the terrible things. You're still so young. So young for such a terrible truth."

"Mom?" Abel asks cautiously, but Wendy is rambling to herself now.

"She wouldn't want this. She wouldn't this. Do I honor her legacy or do I honor his? What would they have wanted me to do? Hide this shit? Keep covering stuff up, pretending that it's fine? No. No, I can't do that. I have to tell them." Wendy buries her face in her hands.

"Tell us what?" Thomas questions, exchanging a glance with Abel.

"Therapy, after this." Wendy declares, suddenly straightening up. A steely look has crossed over her face. "We're all going to therapy after this. We have to. Promise me, and I'll tell you the truth. Because this is going to wreck your world boys. And I am sorry. But you are old enough now for the truth."

"Fine." Abel says eagerly. "Yeah, therapy, fine."

"Sure." Thomas agrees a little slower.

"Ok." Wendy closes her eyes. "Don't interrupt me or I'll stop talking, understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Alright. Abel, your dad and I were married. I got into drugs, and I nearly killed you and me when I couldn't stop them. I hope you've forgiven me for that. But I had to get clean, so Jax and Gemma carted me off to rehab. That's how your mother came along Thomas. Her and Jax had loved each other since high school. She took care of Jax. She took care of you Abel.

"They loved each other Thomas, they loved each other so much. And you were so wanted, by everyone. Two beautiful, wonderful little boys. God, you were surrounded by love, on all sides. Me, Tara, Jax, Gemma, Nero, the guys, we all loved you until it hurt. But shit was… Dangerous.

"Your father was a good man. And I'm not telling you anything but that. But he had enemies, people that could hurt us. Could do things. And Tara decided that she wanted to get you boys out. To where she thought it was going to be safe. She thought she was doing what was right. And to the best of her knowledge, she was.

"But you have to understand how much your grandma Gemma loved you. That woman was… She was a mother, through and through. Her family was the world. It was the only thing that ever mattered to her. If something had happened to you boys, she would have never recovered.

"There was a mistake. A misunderstanding. I guess I don't really know all the details. No one does anymore, I'd think. But Gemma thought Tara was taking you boys far away. And she… Oh god." Wendy cuts herself off, sobbing.

"Grandma hurt my mom." Abel's voice sounds far away. Thomas looks at him, stunned. "I remember, when I was little. She said it was an accident."

"Abel." Wendy raises her tear stained face to his. "We did all we could to keep that shit from hurting you. It messed you up, so long. What a terrible secret for a little boy to know."

"Grandma Gemma killed my mom?" Thomas demands and Wendy's eyes overflow again.

"Yes, sweetie, she did. Who knows what was going through her head. But she did. And Jax… You have to understand, Jax was a good man." She presses them. "But grief, it makes you do… Crazy things. And Jax was trying to protect everyone. God, how can I tell you this?"

"Mom," Abel's voice sounds small and frightened. "Did dad hurt grandma?"

"Yeah baby, he did." Wendy nods, seemingly unaware of the tears that are falling. "Do you see why I didn't want to tell you? It's not a fair burden for you two to have to carry!"

"What, that everyone in our family dies?" Thomas is suddenly furious, standing. "We're so fucked up!"

"Yeah," Wendy doesn't bother to deny it. "We are."

 **AN:** Honorable mention- "Are you afraid of my mother?" "We all are." Cause who says death can't have humor? Also, in reference to my last note- of course I'm leaving these up! If you reread, I hope you review again. There's nothing better. Also, if you spot the reference to A Prayer (which I just completed today, holy shit), then a brownie for you. Thanks and review!


	87. Season 7- A Separation of Crows

_Chibs and Jax's relationship_

"Hey, who's that?" Jax asks Opie under his breath, gesturing to the man who's riding in.

"Didn't you hear?" Opie glances at him in surprise. "There's a new transfer from SAMBEL."

"When'd that happen?" Jax questions curiously and Opie rolls his eyes. Jax can be maddeningly oblivious to things that don't explicitly concern him.

"Awhile ago. His names Chibs." Bobby informs them, appearing from behind the bar.

"Why?" Jax questions and then snaps his mouth shut when Chibs turns. "Oh."

"Yeah." Opie snickers. "Good job."

"So where's he from?" Jax is curious now, sitting down on the barstool. Chibs greets Clay, then they both disappear into chapel.

"SAMBEL." Opie deadpans and Jax gives him a withering look before turning to Bobby.

"Scotland." Bobby clarifies. "But he grew up in Belfast. He was in the Real IRA before he found the club. Guess he pissed off some higher up there, over some chick."

"Always about pussy." Jax says sagely and Opie rolls his eyes.

"So Keith wanted him stateside, let shit cool off." Bobby plows on, ignoring both boys. "Thought he could help foster Irish relationships here."

"Huh." Jax takes a beer. "Think we'll vote him in today?"

"No," Bobby shakes his head. "Clay will let him settle in with all of us first. See if there's any clashes. Then we vote."

They're all quiet, watching TV and drinking, when the door to chapel opens and both Chibs and Clay emerge, looking out at them. Bobby just raises a finger in acknowledgement.

"Jax." Clay says loudly and Jax looks up. "Take Chibs, show him around town. Don't need him getting lost now do we?"

"It's Charming, how lost can you get?" Jax comments, but sets down his beer and gets up nonetheless. "C'mon Chibs."

"You're JT's son." Chibs says gruffly as he follows him and Jax glances back, surprised.

"Yeah, I am."

"Keith had a lot to say about you." He comments and Jax chuckles.

"None of it good, I'm sure." He gets on his bike and Chibs follows suit.

"He mentioned something about a tire iron and a semi trailer, yes." Chibs informs him and Jax grins.

"That's a story for another time. C'mon, I'll show you the diner. Only place here worth eating." He starts his bike and pulls out.

At the diner, they order platefuls of food, then begin to talk. Jax tells Chibs an abbreviated self history, glossing over the deaths of Thomas and JT, still not able to talk about Tara without a flicker of pain, and ending with a wry smile.

In return, Chibs tells him about Scotland, then his exodus to Ireland, the violent upbringing by Belfast's hands, an escape to the military that ended up being a springboard to the Real IRA, and the story of a woman named Fiona.

They end up sitting and talking longer than they eat. Jax dives deeper into the story of Tara and Chibs listens, nodding along. He offers advice where it's due, and commiserates where necessary. Eventually, he himself mentions a girl, Kerrianne.

Jax claps his back when Chibs bows his head to hide his tears. Chibs pulls a photo of a little baby from his wallet, and Jax tells him how beautiful she is. They talk life. They talk love. They talk SAMCRO. By the time they walk out of the diner, they're brothers.

"So what do you think about him?" Bobby asks, upon their return to the garage. Gemma greets them, leading Chibs to where he can have a hot shower and the dorm room where he'll be staying.

"He's great." Jax says honestly, and means it. "I think he'll fit right into SAMCRO, no problem."

* * *

 _Jax missing Tara_

His thoughts are too loud, so he puts a pen to paper and wills the pain to bleed like the ink.

 _'I thought I would miss you differently, Tara Grace. I was sure that I would miss you in the most major of ways. Miss you raising our sons, our boys, to be good people, like you. Miss your wisdom and advice and unfailing pledge to love me for me, not for anything else. Miss you keeping me honest, keeping me true._

 _And I do. Oh, do I miss you. But I miss you in the silliest, stupidest moments. Like this morning. I was making breakfast for the boys before leaving and I just remembered how much you loved cooking with the boys. You'd have they help, trying to teach them. And here I was, cooking scrambled eggs while they slept, sure to be out the door before either of them woke up._

 _You'd do better. You did better. They miss you too, know that. Abel, Thomas, they know that something is wrong. Maybe they don't understand completely what it is, but they know your absence has caused a gaping hole in our lives. They know how sad their father, and everyone else is._

 _The little moments. That's when losing you hits me all the harder. When I'm on my bike, and suddenly it's like I can almost feel your arms wrap around me, feel your chin find that slot in my shoulder, feel your lips on my neck… And then it's just the wind and I'm left just a little more heartbroken._

 _You Tara, I miss the very essence of you. I understand now, something Opie told me after Donna died. He said that the whole world, every part of it, suddenly is covered in razors. You cut yourself on the smallest shit, because the memories are everywhere._

 _That's the pain I'm in. Tiny cuts, from being assailed daily with things that remind me of you. My own body isn't even safe. The scars that I carry remind you of you. My tattoos remind me of you. My bike reminds me of you. My sons remind me of you. The world Tara. You were my world and now it's brutal._

 _I couldn't even tell you what hurts the most, or the worst. All of it is starting to blur together, a never-ending drum of things that wound me and how I lash out against those things. I sit and reflect that perhaps you were the only thing that ever kept me sane. Opie may have kept me whole, but you kept me right._

 _And now you're gone. And there's nothing else I can do for you. Nothing else I can say. I am just a man writing in his notebook, desperate for anything that can provide me solace. Nothing does it though, and I am fast becoming numb to my world. It is simply violence. Where is the good? Where is the light?_

 _With you. With my beautiful, perfect wife. My sons' mother. You took the sun with you when you died. You look my reason. You took my hope. You took my decency. You look my goodness, and I don't think I can ever get it back. I can never get you back._

 _I miss your kiss. I miss your laugh. I miss your smile, and the way you held me. I miss those little sighs you did in your sleep. I miss the sound of your voice, and fear that I and my boys will forget it. I miss making love to you. I miss our memories. I miss you, bitterly so._

 _I love you Tara Grace. Until my last dying breath.'_

* * *

 _Why Tig hates abusing kids_

"You're kinda fucked up, anyone ever tell you that?" Opie remarks to Tig, who shrugs, cleaning his knife.

"My mama, a time or two, before I killed her." He says blandly and Opie rolls his eyes but the prospect behind him is wide eyed in alarm.

"Shut the hell up." Clay growls, checking his gun. "If I get shot before this vacation Gemma'll have my balls."

"She already has your balls." Tig mutters and Clay glares but doesn't dispute it.

"Sparky, keep watch. We're going in." Clay says, and he, Opie, and Tig move towards the rundown house, guns out. They pause in front of the door, silently communicating, before nodding. Opie kicks the door in, entering first. They sweep through the ground level before pausing in front of the stairs, nodding once more.

Tig goes first up the stairs, keeping his gun up, eyes darting into the nooks and crannies of the house. He breaks down another flimsy door, fixing his gun on the human forms that hunker in a corner.

"Fuck, we got kids!" He yells, lowering his gun a fraction.

"You watch them, I'll get the rest of the house." Clay appears in the doorway for a second, confirming Tig's story, before disappearing.

"Why do I gotta be on babysitting duty?" He mutters, before looking back at his charges. Three kids are cowering, a tangle of limbs. Tig notices how young the littlest one must be- no older than two or three. He kneels to get a closer look.

All of them are filthy. They could be any race, but Tig isn't quite sure, since all of them are caked in grime. Their hair is lank and greasy. The oldest, a girl, looks to be trying to protect the two smaller boys, her gaze occasionally darting out at him.

"Oh, hey." Tig puts his gun away, holding his hands up so that they can see that he's not armed. "Hey, hey, don't be scared. I'm here to help. Is there a guy that lives here?"

The little girl watches him blankly, but Tig can see something in her eyes, something shrewd. Calculating. He pauses, wondering how to go about this.

"My friends and I want to take the man away." He sits down, so he's closer to her level. "We know that he does bad things, so we want to take him somewhere that he can't do those things. If you show me where he is, I promise that he'll never do anything again. Does that make sense?"

"He hurts us." The little girl's voice is scratchy, like she doesn't use it often. Then she moves aside, and rage boils through Tig. The littlest boy is tied, like a dog, to the crib.

"I know." Tig rests a hand on her head. "But he's not going to anymore. I'm going to get him free, ok? But I won't hurt him." He pulls out his knife, showing it to her. After a guarded second, she moves aside. Tig quickly gets the little boy loose, picking him up.

"No!" The little girl shouts and Tig shushes her.

"Look, look, look, not taking him." He hands the little boy back to her. She clings to him protectively. "Ok, you hold him then. But someone has to show me where the bad man is."

The middle boy, serious and silent, takes his hand. He doesn't make a peep, just leads Tig through the hallways. Clay spots them from where he's standing in an empty room with Opie.

"What the fuck?" He demands, hanging up the phone he was on.

"Tell me where the bad man is." Tig urges, ignoring Clay. The little boy walks over to a plain wall, points to it, then stands back. Tig runs his hands over it, finding the hidden latch. He pops it, standing back and drawing a gun. Inside a tiny space, a man is contorted.

"Jesus Christ." Tig hauls him out, keeping the gun pressed to the back of his head.

"What the hell is going on?" Clay demands, as the other two children walk into the room.

"These your kids?" Tig demands, pressing the barrel harder.

"Fuck no." He spits. "Some junkie whore left them here."

"You tied a baby to a crib." Tig is seeing red now. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Not my kids." The man sneers. "What the fuck do I care? Ungrateful brats. I was trying to teach them a lesson."

In a flash, Tig has slammed the butt of his gun into the back of the man's head. He slumps onto the floor and Clay looks at him in disbelief.

"What?"

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Clay gestures to the man, then the kids.

"Call Unser." Tig holsters his gun, looking at the little girl. "Tell him CPS is needed. We take him. Simple."

"Ok, look, I know you got a soft spot in your heart for kids like this." Clay gestures for Opie to help carry the body down the stairs. "But you know what the foster system is gonna do to them."

"Fine." Tig sets the body down. "I'll call Gemma. She can take them in. Say goodbye to your vacation." He pulls out his phone while Clay groans. "Gemma, it's Tiggy. Got some babies for you, need some help. You be in Stockton in under an hour? Thanks."

* * *

 _Did JT commit suicide_

Life is a funny thing, he reflects. Life is all we know. There is no alternative, no second option. Life is all we have, and anything else is just speculation. Why then, do we fear death? Human nature, he supposes, to fear what we don't know. What we can't possibly know.

But John Teller isn't scared. Not of death. He's seen too much of it. He's seen men die screaming for their mother's, those that whimper for help, some of them silent, not saying a word when they slip through the void of life and death. He's seen kids, still teens, die for reasons he still doesn't quite understand.

He lived through his son dying, caused by something that he could never have hoped to control or change. He's watched as men were shot down. He's shot down a couple in his lifetime. It's just death. Perhaps you become numb to it after awhile.

But what is death, he muses, and why are we so scared of it? To him, it seems like salvation. A break from all of this pain. An opportunity to break free from all of it. He can't deny the appeal of it.

Life is messy. Life is complicated. He can see that now, more clearly than he ever did at 18, or 25, or even 30. It's difficult, to sit where he does. He feels a bit like the biblical god of old, having created something so wonderful, only to see it turn upon all the ideals he created it with.

How does he make it right? That's what he grapples with. How can he set the club on a course that won't destroy him and it, all at once? He's never been on more unstable ground. It all moves too fast and too slow, roads untaken stretching out in front of him.

The solution has been rattling around in his mind for weeks, since he completed his book, stashing it away, reflecting on the words he'd laid out within it's pages. He knows what it is. It's coming, he just isn't sure when he himself will be ready for it.

The choice isn't his. The cloudy November day, when he decides to go out for a solo ride. Clear his head. Of course something is different on his bike. He feels it. He could pull over. Inspect it. Call for a ride. But he doesn't.

It's him, the sky, the wind, the road. Just the way he likes.

He tries not to think about Jax. That's the only thing that might stop him. But he's almost a man. He'll be strong.

He thinks about Thomas. Reuniting with his son. With all the men he's known, then lost. His parents, his grandparents. Them all. He wryly admits that he has more family dead than living. He's simply joining their ranks.

The bike falters, and he does nothing. It will be simpler that way. He will make no effort to do things a certain way. He will simply be, and let fate run it's course. Inaction however, is sometimes even harder than action. He sits back, and sees, for a brief moment, what he's done on this earth.

He's left behind SAMCRO and Jax. Two legacies, each intertwined with the other. Without his club, he never would have had Jax. And without Jax, his club would never have a future. He's messed up both, surely. But with him gone, there might just be a chance for it to straighten out.

So when the semi comes towards him, John Teller does nothing. He lets his bike take the path it's on. He keeps himself still, and reminds him of what is waiting for him, and why this is right.

But he's not scared.

 **AN:** I dunno, this is oddly one of my most favorite episodes I've done and I can't really tell you why. Let me know which story was your favorite?


	88. Season 7- What a Piece of Work is Man

_Jax's love for his sons_

"You know what's crazy?" Jax mummers one night, startling Brooke. She's come to put Thomas to bed, while Jax lays with Abel.

"Uh, what?" She keeps her voice low as to not wake the boys.

"You would do anything for these kids, wouldn't you?" Jax questions and Brooke smiles, looking down at Thomas. He's fast asleep, clinging to a little stuffed bear, his blonde hair frizzy and his pajamas just a little too big for him.

"Yeah, I would." She is being honest, sweeping a hand over Thomas forehead.

"You'd die for them." Jax isn't quite talking to her anymore, but she nods. "And kill for them. If anyone tried to hurt them, you'd tear them limb from limb."

"Yeah," Brooke watches as Abel sleeps, peaceful. "I'd probably go even crazier than I am now."

"Damn." Jax snorts in amusement. "You do love them."

"Yeah, I do." A smile flickers across Brooke's face. "There's a lot of us here that do."

"I hope they know that." Jax looks down at Abel mournfully. "Do you think they know?"

"I really do." Brooke carefully settles on the end of the bed. She doesn't often get to talk to Jax, but she finds him interesting, mostly because Rat is terrified by him but also strives to emulate him at every turn. "I spend the most time with them, you know."

"And thank you." Jax says sincerely. "You've worked off your debt."

"I know." She utters simply. "That's not why I stay. Because now I love them too. But they know you love them."

"But not how much." Jax smoothes down Abel's covers. "You won't ever know, not until you have kids. How much of your heart they take."

"It kind of scares me." Brooke admits. "I would walk in front of a bus for them. What would I do for my own kids?"

"Anything." Jax glances up at her. "Do you know the story of Thomas's mother, Tara?"

"No." Brooke draws her knees up to her chest and waits.

"We were in love in high school." Jax watches Abel's face. "Love, love. The kind where you think you're going to die when you're not together. We got through a lot of shit together, but she still left. When she came back, it was amazing. Bliss. And I loved her more than ever. She was my soulmate. But it was crazy, because I loved her more than anything else in the entire world. But then I had him." Jax runs a hand over Abel's head. "And she wasn't the thing I loved most anymore."

"Was that a bad thing?" Brooke asks, wondering about Rat.

"No," Jax chuckles. "Because I wasn't the thing she loved most either. And that's ok. That's how much you love your kids. And that's what's so perfect about them. They don't hurt or harm your relationships. They can make them so much stronger."

"Yeah?" Brooke plays with an errant string.

"Don't be go having any." Jax warns her, in a teasing tone. "I still need you here. They'd miss you too much."

"I'll just keep practicing on them." Brooke jokes back. "That way if I screw them up, they're not mine."

"We all screw them up." Jax turns serious. "I think I've managed to do a worse job than most."

"No you haven't." Brooke insists quickly.

"I love them so much." Jax seems lost in his own thoughts once more. "I only ever wanted to give them the world. I thought I was doing what was right for them. And instead I took Abel's mother from him. He was kidnapped, held hostage. He was nearly stolen from me. And then I missed Thomas's birth, and most of his first months. I left Tara to raise them alone. And then they had to lose her too. All because of me, and how I'm not a good man. I cost them so much, and they are just innocents in this all."

"Hey." Brooke reaches out and rests a hand on his arm. "You couldn't have known that things like this were going to happen. You love them. That's all a kid needs, coming from a kid who didn't have much."

"Yeah?" Jax looks skeptical, but Brooke nods reassuringly.

"They know they've got a dad who loves them. And a bunch of other people too. I think I'm sort of figuring out that family is all about who you make it." Brooke gives him a little smile. "Right?"

"That's been my whole life." Jax thinks back fondly of the little family they'd formed in high school, how they'd often echoed those same sentiments. "You know you are family Brooke."

"Really?" Brooke ducks her head, pleased.

"The boys love you." Jax gestures to his sons. "Both of them. I can't thank you enough for what you've done."

"It's nothing." Still grinning, Brooke waves a hand. "Thanks for letting me get so close with them."

"Wouldn't have anyone else." Jax reaches out and takes her hands. "Thank you, for loving my boys."

"Pretty easy to." Brooke tells him, standing and checking on Thomas once more. "When you do such a good job."

"Thank you." Jax says quietly and Brooke knows it's for all the reasons he can't say, so she just nods and turns outs the lights.

* * *

 _Gemma's nightmares_

She's spinning, lost in a large white room. It's spotless, pristine white, and utterly empty. She can't breathe, despite the fact that there's plenty of space for her in the vast, cavernous room.

Where's Thomas? Ah, there he is. What's he got in his mouth? Gemma tries to make her way towards the little boy, who's sitting in the middle of the room. He's quiet, dressed in the all black outfit she'd put him in for Tara's funeral.

She can't reach him, and he's in distress now, little face turning blue. Gemma is screaming, running for him, but the marble beneath her feet is too slippery and she can't find her footing. He collapses and suddenly she's able to get to him, sobbing.

She gathers up his tiny, lifeless body, hugging him close. She opens his mouth, trying to see what choked the life from him. She reels back when black feathers fall out, drifting slowly, a stark contrast to the shine of the floor.

She's still trying to breathe life back into him when she hears the pattering steps of little feet. She turns and unleashes an unholy scream at the sight in front of her. It's Abel, but not.

His little teeshirt is bloody, and his gut bulges against it, like his insides are spilling out. A large scar, matching her own, crosses his chest. His beautiful eyes drip blood, hollow and lifeless.

"Why'd you do this to me grandma?" He asks, the only noise in the room the dripping, splattering of blood as it hits the floor.

"Abel," She sobs. "Abel, I didn't. I would never hurt you."

"You let me mommy try to kill me." Abel's voice doesn't sound like him- it's older, harsher. "You let her do drugs. You didn't care about me."

"Of course I did, of course I did." Gemma protests. "I didn't know baby, I didn't know!"

"You gave me a bad heart." He accuses. "It's going to stop beating on me, just like Thomas's did."

"Please." Gemma holds up a hand to shield herself from the onslaught of guilt. "Please, don't."

"You tried to kill me." He condemns her coldly. "You tried to kill us all."

"I would never!" She insists. "You're my family! I just wanted to protect you!"

"Protect us." The voice is from behind her and when she turns, Tara is standing there. Tara, with the carving fork still in her neck, face bloody, a snarl on her face. "You don't protect Gemma. You only kill."

"I didn't mean to! I didn't mean to!" Gemma blubbers.

"Didn't mean to. Didn't mean to." Tara mocks, taking Abel's hand and the two zombies stare her down. "You think that matters to us? We're dead. Dead. Dead. Dead." She and Abel chant the word.

Gemma tries to run away, but now she can't get further from them. Tara holds Thomas's limp body in her arms, Abel by her side, their eyes wide and judging. Gemma can't get away, so she turns, only to stagger back.

John stands there, still wearing the same clothes he'd wrecked in. Jeans, that flannel, his kutte. Blood mats down his hair, and half his body seems caved in. Gemma stares at him in horror, having forgotten how gruesome his injuries had been after all this time.

"You can't run." His voice is just as she remembers it, deep and commanding. All around her are the dead. Clay arrives, half his skull missing, looking at her from sunken eyes. Rose, as old and judgmental as ever, rests a hand on Tara's shoulder.

"I didn't… I didn't…" Gemma is sobbing now, shaking from fear. "Want any of you… To die!"

"You killed me." John reminds her.

"You let your son murder me."

"You cut me down."

Their voices detail her crimes against them and she gasps as they step closer, all of them listing off all the things she's done wrong. She covers her head, weeping, until they close in on her, suffocating her with the accusations.

She wakes up, gasping. She claws at the bedsheets, until she can get herself free, launching herself towards the window and air. She tries to breathe normally, but she can't, and when the rush of vomit comes up, she runs for the bathroom.

"Hey mama, you ok?" Nero stands in the doorway of the bathroom, looking at her with concern.

"Yeah." Gemma tries to hide the fact that she's still got vomit flecked to the corners of her mouth. "Guess stuffs not sitting well."

"You haven't been sleeping well." Nero wets a washcloth and places it against the nape of her neck. "You sure everything's ok?"

"Worried, I guess." It's not a lie. Gemma waits another wave has passed, then gets up. "I'll be back in a second, go back to sleep."

"Ok." Nero leaves, a little hesitantly, and Gemma groans, pushing her hair back. Eventually, she gets up, brushing her teeth, securing her robe, and slipping in the backyard for a smoke. She looks up at the hazy sky, puffing. There's no way in hell she's doing back to bed. Not tonight.

* * *

 _The clubs reaction to Bobby_

Jax doesn't raise his head when he hears the roar of the bikes come back. He stays when he is, kneeling in the blood soaked dirt, resting his head against Bobby's.

"Jackie!" He hears Chibs yell, but still he can't bring himself to look up. He doesn't want to see the faces of his men as they see that he's failed to protect another one of them. Chibs reaches him first, patting him, but he can't speak. His mouth seems too dry to do so.

"Jax?" Tig is hanging back, but that's because he can see things objectively, Jax reckons. He's smart enough to realize that Jax isn't bleeding. He's untouched. It's Bobby.

There's a noise, a keening sound, like an animal that's been wounded. Jax doesn't need to look up. He knows it's Happy. He's heard that sound before, when Happy had lost a member from Tacoma back when they were young.

"No." Chibs is in disbelief, staggering backwards. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Bobby?" Tig's voice sounds broken. "Man, get up. Man, get up. C'mon Bobby, man, get up."

Jax finally raises his head and looks out over them. Happy is standing, looking at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. Tig is kneeling in the dirt, head hanging down. Chibs is slumped a few steps from Jax, groaning.

"How?" Chibs demands, unable to bring himself to comprehend what's going on. "How did this happen? I checked him Jackie, he was clean!"

"We didn't check Bobby." Jax says slowly, the words ripping the hole in chest ever wider. "He strapped the gun to him. Bobby tried… He tried… To warn me." Overcome with more tears, Jax bows his head.

"What'd he do?" Tig demands suddenly. "Did he make it hurt?"

"No," Jax says quietly, once he's gotten himself back under control. "No, it was quick. Painless. Nothing like the last couple days."

"Ah." Tig sinks down, in the fetal position on the ground. They are all silent for a few long moments, each other them with tears falling freely down their face. Finally, Chibs seems to rouse himself.

"C'mon." He orders. "We gotta get him in the van." None of them move, so he repeats himself. Jax relinquishes Bobby's body, sitting back on his heels.

"Jesus Christ." Tig moans. "No, god, no."

"C'mon brother." Chibs seems to be the only one who can move. He rouses Happy, then Tig. "We need to get him away from here. We need to get him somewhere better."

"Yeah." That thought clears the haze that has been surrounding Jax, cutting through the pain. "He deserves better."

"Aye." Chibs says heavily and then he finally rests a hand on Jax's shoulder. "Jackie."

"I know." Jax whispers, eyes still glued to Bobby's face. How much pain did he endure before this? How badly was he hurting? How could Jax have done this to someone that he loves? God, not Bobby.

"Brother." Chibs' words ring final and they prompt Jax to finally let the body go. Chibs helps him to his feet and Jax steps a few paces back. They deserve their goodbyes.

Chibs kneels down and presses his head to Bobby's. He's murmuring something in Gaelic, running his hands over Bobby's hair. Whatever it is, it's melody soothes Jax. It sounds like a prayer or a poem, and when Chibs is done, he looks up at Jax, tears streaming down his face silently.

"I'm sorry." Jax's heart is broken, but it's all he can say at this point. Chibs nods and moves aside. Tig is the one to fall to his knees next.

He doesn't say a word. Not even a flicker of emotion crosses his face as he lies with his head on Bobby's chest. He stays there, absolutely still, for a long time, like suddenly Bobby will start breathing once more, his chest rising and falling.

"Soon, brother." Tig finally whispers, sitting up. Then he moves aside and Happy is the last of them to say their goodbyes.

He sits in silence, his eyes closed, his hand on Bobby's forehead, like he's meditating. Tears flow down his face continuously, but he doesn't bother to check them. None of them do. It would be a disservice to Bobby's memory. Finally, Happy opens his eyes and bends to press his forehead to Bobby's. Then he stands, steely faced.

"Let's take him home."

"Aye." Chibs checks all their faces. "He would like that."

Jax watches as they load his body into the back of the van, at turns furious, shocked, and devastated. All he wanted was to keep his club whole. And even with every second that passed, he truly believed that he was going to get Bobby back. That the old man could survive anything. But no one is invincible, and Jax has another death on his hands.

* * *

 _Brooke and Rat OTP "Do you love me?" "I just said it, didn't I?"_

"Ok, no, I have a serious question for you." Tig says, folding his arms, staring down Rat.

"What?" Rat grunts, disappearing under his bike with a wrench.

"When are you going to propose to Brooke?" Tig demands and Rat scoots back out, looking at him incredulously.

"Whenever I feel like it. Is that ok with you, mother?" He jabs.

"Hey." Tig points at him seriously. "Don't insult your mother by comparing her to me. I've met her, she's a nice lady."

"God." Rolling his eyes, Rat goes back under. "Why do you care?"

"Cause she's a good kid." Tig looks out of the garage. Brooke is bouncing a baby boy on her hip while she oversees the delivery of building materials back to the clubhouse. "And she gave you a perfect son."

"I know that." Rat has lost some of his defensiveness now, making adjustments while he talks. "And we've discussed it."

"You got a ring?" Tig asks, and when Rat doesn't answer him, gives him a sharp kick to the thigh.

"Ugh! You motherfucker— Yes, I have a ring. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"When you gonna give it to her?" Tig presses remorselessly and Rat makes a noise of frustration.

"Soon." Rat sits up, winching as he rubs his thigh muscle. "But now I can't get down on one knee."

"Don't be a pussy." Tig orders. "Do it. Tonight, when the whole club is here."

"Are you planning my engagement for me?" Rat looks at him, astonished.

"It's what Brooke would want." Tig tells him and Rat blinks.

"Why do you know that?"

"We talk." Tig gives a supremely caviler shrug. "It's come up."

"You are so fucking difficult to pin down." Rat rubs his forehead. "Fine, tonight. I'll ask her."

"Good kid." Tig claps him hard on the back and he flinches. Tig grins and walks towards Brooke, who greets him with a smile, jostling the baby on her hip.

"Why's Rat limping?" She asks him, watching Rat in the garage.

"No idea." Tig lies with ease, taking the baby boy. "Everyone still coming to your house for supper tonight?"

"Yeah." Brooke pulls her hair back. "I'll be so excited when this whole thing is done and we can start having stuff at the clubhouse again."

"Tonight will be fun." Tig assures her and Brooke chuckles. "You'll see."

(-)

"Hey." Brooke greets him with a smile when he walks into the house, collapsing down onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

"Hi." He rubs his temples.

"Long day?" Brooke asks sympathetically.

"Killer." He admits, then rolls to look at her. "Sorry I missed the doctor's appointment. Everything ok?"

"Perfectly healthy." Brooke grins and looks down at the swell of her belly. "They put the gender in an envelope, if you want to know."

"Yeah?" Rat lifts his head up. "We finding out this time?"

"I'd like to." Brooke admits. "Because if it's a boy, we've got plenty of stuff. But if it's a girl…" She trails off wistfully and Rat shakes his head, chuckling.

"We're going to need some more stuff." He finishes for her. "Alright, let's open the envelope then."

"What, now?" Brooke looks at him in astonishment. "No, I want us to have a gender reveal party!"

"A what?" Rat looks at her in confusion.

"It's where we get everyone together and we have a party and then we do something fun and cool to announce if it's a boy or girl!" Brooke tosses him her phone. "See?"

"Jesus Christ." He mutters, pressing play on the video she's pulled up. It's a couple, surrounded by people, whacking a piñata. After a couple blows, it explodes with blue confetti. The video ends with people cheering and the couple kisses.

"Cute, right?" Brooke asks and he passes the phone back to her with a befuddled expression.

"So they're having a boy?"

"Yeah." Brooke presses play to watch it herself. "It's cute."

"Ok honey." He says tiredly, standing. "You plan it, I'll show up. I'm going to bed. I love you." He kisses her head, then stoops to kiss her belly. "And I love you, whatever gender you are in there."

"We love you too." She mutters, watching a video where they set off smoke bombs in the correct colors.

That Friday, he shows up to the clubhouse when Brooke orders him. The party is in full swing. The woman are wearing the colors with what they think the gender is, while the men wear customary black, milling about uncertainly. There's games, drinks, snacks, and kids playing.

"This is by far the most ridiculous thing we've ever done." Happy grumbles.

"Yup." Rat grabs a beer and goes to look for something stronger.

"Rat!" Brooke yells, waving him over. "Come on, we're going to reveal now!"

"So how's this work again?" He asks, walking with his beer. Everyone excitedly clusters around his bike, phones out.

"The girls got the smoke. You rev your bike, and it'll be pink or blue." Brooke explains, gesturing for him to get on the bike. She stands back and with a long suffering sigh to hide his excitement, Rat gets on the bike and starts it. When he revs, pink smokes explodes behind him and the women bursts into cheers.

"A girl?" He asks Brooke in disbelief, as she hugs him, beaming. "We're having a girl?"

"Yes!" Brooke is crying and he kisses her temple, a little dazed. As she runs to be congratulated, he turns to the men.

"Have fun." Chibs says with a wicked grin.

(-)

"How do you make it work?" Ellie asks Brooke sadly, watching as Rat drinks, talking to TO.

"What, with him?" Brooke gestures to her husband, cleaning glasses.

"Yeah." Ellie sighs. "I mean, I love Gavin, I really do. But sometimes the club shit that happens is just… It's insane."

"You knew that though." Brooke reminds her with a frown. "You know what this life is."

"Yeah, I knew it as a daughter. Not as a girlfriend. I'm not sure I can do it as a wife." She broods and Brooke raises an eyebrow.

"Things like that with him?"

"Maybe." Ellie traces a whorl in the bar. "I don't know. I think I'd like that, then he lies and I question everything."

"I ever tell you how he and I decided it was forever?" Brooke asks her and Ellie shakes her head, sitting up a little straighter. "It was at 2 am. He was blackout drunk. I was off my meds. It wasn't pretty."

"What wasn't?" Ellie's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion.

"Our relationship." Brooke makes a face. "Anyways, he came home after sleeping with some hooker. I'd been with some junkies, using. Nothing serious, just recreational, but he came home and lost his shit."

"Oh." Ellie makes a face, having seen the wrath of Rat before.

"Yeah. So I lost my shit back. We were throwing things. Destroying half the living room, screaming at the top of our lungs. I hit him. He held me down. I honestly thought we were going to kill each other." Brooke says thoughtfully and Ellie is looking more uncomfortable by the moment.

"And this is when you fell in love?" She asks slowly and Brooke shakes her head.

"Oh, no. We are in love long before this. It just happened to be the time when we figured it out that we were never going to leave each other. Because there we were, wreckage all around us. He's drunk, I'm crazy. And then we realized something important." Brooke smiles fondly at her husband. "That was the worst we were ever going to get. Neither of us were pretty then. We were really fucking ugly, actually. But we were together."

"That doesn't sound healthy." Ellie says hesitantly.

"Probably not." Brooke shrugs. "But there's something powerful about someone seeing you at your absolute worst and not walking away. And we didn't walk away. We sobered up, cleaned up, and promised to make it work, no matter what. Because nothing could've been worse than that night."

"And have things?" Ellie asks and Brooke laughs.

"Oh, of course. But that's the beauty of it. Each shitty thing that we get into, at least we're going through it together. That's all that matters." She grins as Rat walks up to the bar. "Right honey?"

"What?" He asks, looking for a bottle of whiskey.

"You love me, even though I threatened to kill you this morning for leaving your socks on the bathroom floor." She says innocently.

"I believe your words were castrate, divorce, murder, and throw me into the ocean." Rat says casually, plucking the amber bottle.

"See?" Brooke shrugs. "My worst, and he still loves me."

"Don't be fooled, it's for the sex." Rat says, then departs when Brooke throws her towel at his head.

"It's not perfect." Brooke grins at Ellie. "But it's what you get here."

"Crazy." Ellie sighs. "We're all crazy here."

 **AN:** I wasn't kidding friends, I love Brooke and Rat. Also, s/o Quinn for being the best wingman ever, just watching that sex scene like nbd. I wanted to write something on that but every time I watched it I couldn't stop laughing. Reviews are cherished like little precious angel kisses!


	89. Season 7- Faith and Despondency

_Winsome_

"Hey," She nudges one of the other girl's- she thinks her name is Sammy or something? "What's his story?"

"Who?" Sammy looks up from unloading things out of their boxes.

"Him." Winsome nods in the direction of Jax. He's standing at the bar, talking to another girl as she sets up the alcohol.

"Jax?" Sammy asks in surprise. "Oh, he's the president of SAMCRO. He owns half of Diosa."

"Yeah, I know." Winsome says impatiently. "But what's like his story? What kind of guy is he?"

"I don't know." Sammy shrugs. "He's a good guy, I guess. He doesn't beat any of us, if that's what you're wondering. We get paid on time. We don't worry about someone killing us or raping us. Minus the whole Chinese thing, things are pretty simple around here."

"Is he married?" Winsome had noted the wedding band when he'd brought her in.

"Sort of." Sammy looks slightly uncomfortable.

"Let me guess," Winsome snorts. "Has a wife and kid at home, but fucks all the girls here. God, how can some women live like that? Thinking their husbands are loyal, when in reality they'd fuck anything that walks by with a tight ass and a nice smile." She ends her rant with flared nostrils and a sense of justification, able to hate Jax.

"Yes to the kids thing. Not so much for the wife thing." Sammy lowers her voice and leans close to her. "She was murdered a couple months ago. It destroyed Jax. He's basically been alone ever since."

"Oh shit." The hate escapes her in a heartbeat, replaced by pity. That explains the pain behind those big blue eyes.

"Yeah." Sammy makes a face. "But he's a really good boss otherwise. Why?"

"I, uh," Winsome is still trying to wrap her mind around everything so she shakes her head to clear it. "I just wondered. My last pimp was kind of a dick. Just wondering, you know, how long this thing can last."

"Oh." Sammy rests a sympathetic hand on her arm. "I'm sorry sweetie. We come from a lot of backgrounds around here. I didn't realize."

"It's ok." Winsome waves a hand. She doesn't want pity. She doesn't need it. "I'm trying to get back on my feet."

"Well, this is the place to do it." Sammy says brightly. "Jax is a great guy. Honestly. And he's not a pimp. You pick your guys, and if anything goes wrong that you don't like, they have like, seven bodyguards to throw them out. And they can never come back."

"Wow, feel like I'm in the Ritz." Winsome mutters, still watching Jax. Now that she knows to look for it, she does see how he's smiling and animated when talking to the other girls, but the second he doesn't think anyone is watching, his face drops into deep sadness and tiredness.

"Pretty much." Sammy says cheerfully, then totes a box towards the kitchen, leaving Winsome to her own devices. She finds a box of shot glasses and carries them towards the bar, sure to pass in front of Jax's line of sight.

"Hey," He says quietly, when she sets the box down. "How are you doing?"

"Pretty good." She chances a glance up at him. "You?"

"Getting through." He watches as she starts to offload the glasses, organizing them neatly. "Settling in here?"

"Kind of." She decides to try some humor with him. "Still, you know, waiting for someone to try to break my arm."

"If they try, remind them that your new pimp will break them right back." She looks up sharply, only to relax when she sees that he too, is joking.

"That'll take some getting use to." She flashes him a smile and he grins, chuckling.

"Well, get use to it. Thanks for helping out here. Tell Bri I had to run, but I'll be back tonight. You around?"

"Yeah." She wills her heart not to flip, and fails.

"See you then." With a wink, Jax is gone and she's left breathless, a little confused, and excited, all at once.

* * *

 _Jax and Bobby "I'm not sure I know what SAMCRO looks like without him."_

Jax is breathing heavily, not trying to fight off Bobby's grip on his chest, but keeping his eyes locked on the man in front of him, who's similarly being held back.

"It's done Jax." Bobby says loudly in his ear. "It's done. Let it go."

"Fuck you!" Jax yells, but let's Bobby drag him away. Once they're clear of the alley, Jax's shoulder's drop and he winces, probing at the blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Nice job dumbass." Bobby snorts, finishing his glass of whiskey.

"I think I did alright." Jax shrugs and wipes the blood from his face.

"That's what you call getting knocked down into the dirt?" Bobby raises an eyebrow. "You and I got different ideas of alright, boy."

"Ah, well." Jax holds out his hand and Bobby glances at it.

"Oh, you want a drink?"

"Well I did just get my ass kicked." Jax rolls his eyes. "Can I at least have a drink?"

"You can have a drink when you pick a fight you can actually win." Bobby declares and Jax grins.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Let's go." Bobby orders, meandering down the alley and Jax, limping slightly, follows suit.

"Why'd you join SAMCRO?" Jax asks him randomly and Bobby looks back at him.

"Why'd you?" He turns the question back on Jax, who pauses with a tiny frown.

"It's my legacy." He parrots the line from Gemma before he even realizes it.

"You want to know what my old man's legacy was to me?" Bobby asks and Jax nods. "A good head for math and illegal shit. Never gave me a chance to be anything else but this. Well, really, I should've joined the mob like him. This is better."

"Better than the mob." Jax gets a laugh out of that. "I think that's a compliment."

"It is." Bobby laughs at that too. "I like the whole brotherhood thing. Even if it means getting someone who could be my kid out of a bar fight on a Thursday night."

"Opie's with the baby." Jax says, to explain, and Bobby just chuckles. shaking his head.

"You need a better outlet for this energy." He tells him and Jax shrugs.

"Find me a girl that can keep up."

"Not possible." Bobby sighs and Jax grins. "Jax?"

"Yeah?" Jax is sorting out the holes that have been torn in his shirt.

"This club's future rests with you." Bobby is serious, so Jax looks up at him in surprise. "Us old guys, we're just here to ride out into the sunset. You and Op, you're our future. You're going to lead us in the right direction."

"Hey, I'm not even VP yet." Jax jokes, uncomfortable with the tone Bobby's taking.

"You will be." Bobby states factually. "And when that time comes, you have to take this energy, you have to focus it where it's really needed."

"On what, guns and pussy?" Jax is still trying to remain offhand, but Bobby just nods.

"And on everything your father wanted for you. It's your legacy kid. Own it."

"Alright." Jax says quietly and Bobby claps him on the back.

"Aright, come on then, ten bucks says Gemma loses it when you come home."

"Hell no, I'm sleeping in the clubhouse tonight."

* * *

 _Tig's attraction to Venus_

He's not sure what it is about her. He knows what most people would say. Oh Tig, he does it for the shock value. He does it to be different, weird, strange. And that certainly has it's appeal.

He doesn't like being normal. He likes being bizarre and odd and shocking. The club does that, his hobbies do that, and his personality does that. But something about Venus is different.

He hasn't loved anyone since his first girlfriend, the one he lost on his bike. Honey. She was beautiful, wonderful. When he killed her, his whole world stopped. His heart broke, and it was never fixed.

Of course, Dawn and Fawn helped. They took up something else from him. Love maybe, but not the same as it was. Nothing is ever the same. He wonders if he's a psychopath. He's read the symptoms, and some of them are there. But not the most important one.

He cares what happens to others. Clay, Opie, Bobby, they all devastated him with their death's. He felt that devastation, deep in his bones. It wasn't like he didn't. But to love, to give someone his heart and feel deeply, truly for them? He's not sure how to do it.

But Venus makes him want to try. God, is she beautiful. The prettiest thing he ever did see. A little different, but that's alright by him. She'd be boring any other way. He doesn't mind the stares.

Really though, it's her brokenness that he loves. That's what's so important to him. She fits with his brokenness, right alongside his traumas and scars. The awful shit he's seen, done, all of it. She doesn't flinch away. She embraces it, roundly.

That's what is so important to him. That she's seen his darkness. She's even met him with some of her own. They're fucked up. There's no denying that. But they're fucked up, together.

* * *

 _Abel's arm scar_

"Come here." Willow beams at him, gesturing for him to join her in bed.

"Hold on." He pauses, gazing at her with a smile. She frowns slightly, tilting her head.

"What?"

"I want to take a mental picture of this." He declares and she ducks her head, blushing. "The girl of my dreams, in my bed, naked. It's perfect."

"Aw." She beams at him.

"Yeah, I'm totally going to jerk off to this later."

"Damnit Abel." Willow throws a pillow at him as he roars with laughter. "Don't ruin sweet moments."

"It's still true." He crawls in, trying to kiss her. "I do like this."

"Me too." Willow mummers, kissing him. He holds her close, breathing her in, content. "And it's nice not having to cuddle you in a tiny ass dorm bed."

"I can't wait until you're off campus." He mutters, eyes closed, relaxed. "Sex is gonna be so much better next year."

"Shut up, you love a challenge." Willow pokes him in the ribs and he grunts in protest, not opening his eyes. So instead, Willow explores his body, a favorite pastime of hers. Her fingers hit on all his scars, and she knows most stories so he starts to doze.

He's nearly lulled into sleep when her fingertips ghost over the scar on his forearm. It's long faded from what it was, but it's still visible, just barely. Four little raised line, a few inches long. He cracks an eye and sees her studying it intently.

"It's from a fork." He says quietly and she looks up, surprised.

"I thought you were asleep." She says honestly.

"Nearly." He says simply and Willow traces the scar again.

"How'd you get this from a fork?" She asks, her forehead wrinkling.

"I did it to myself." He admits and her eyes go wide.

"What?"

"I was kind of a fucked up kid." He says mildly.

"Well, yeah, me too, but I never did anything like that!" Willow stares, agape. "What happened?"

"Do you want my answer or my therapist's answer?" He asks wryly and Willow gives him a critical look.

"Which is honest?"

"Ah," He stretches and holds her close. "Both then. Well, you see, my grandmother killed my mother. Then my father killed my grandmother for killing my mother. I was like 4. You can probably imagine what that does to a kid."

"Yeah." Willow's fingers are griping tightly to his. "I can."

"Apparently, I was the one who found out about my grandmother killing Tara." Abel's repeated these words often enough that they don't cause pain anymore, but they still sound strange, like it's someone else's story. "I didn't quite know how to articulate it, so I started hurting myself."

"You what?" Willow looks at him in horror. "That young?"

"I was a smart kid." He says, a little detachedly. "I knew that if I was hurt and I blamed it on my grandma, she would get in trouble. I think even then that I knew she was bad, for lack of better words. So I did it, and I blamed it on her."

"You stabbed yourself with a fork?" Willow looks at the scar in astonishment. "And it left this?"

"I've always had a high pain tolerance." He says casually and Willow just gapes at him. "I told you baby. I was a fucked up kid."

"I just…" Willow squints at it. "That scar is…"

"Yeah." He gets it. The sight of it still gives him pause sometimes, when he forgets about it. "But it makes me who I am. I see it as a reminder."

"Of what?" Willow asks, looking up at him.

"JT, my grandpa. Gemma, my grandma." He points to the lines. "Tara, my mom. Jax, my dad. All the people that this club has taken the lives of."

"And yet you're still here?" Willow asks him with a frown. "You still came back and wanted to be a son?"

"Yeah." Abel gives a little shrug. "Sometimes you can't deny nature I guess."

"Would you ever cover it up?" She asks him, tracing the tattoo he has on his collarbone.

"No." He rubs the scar. "I'm kind of fond of it."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me who I am." He explains. "I've had that scar almost my whole life. I wouldn't be me without it."

"Yeah, I guess." Willow says thoughtfully. "Plus it's the craziest story behind a scar I've ever heard."

"Really?" Abel cranes his neck to look at him in disbelief. "What about the story of the bite mark on Happy's ass?"

"That is not as crazy as a four year old with a fork!"

* * *

 _Brooke as an old lady_

"Hey." She says sharply and the gang of kids trying to sneak through the kitchen freezes. "What's up?"

"Nothing!" Rang, the eldest and ringleader of the group, says quickly. "Nothing."

"Ah, no." Brooke holds her hand out to her oldest son. "Give it."

"It's nothing." He insists quickly.

"Give. It." She enunciates clearly. "Now, or I'll call your father and uncles."

"Mom!" He whines quickly but when she snaps her fingers, impatient, he caves and hands it over. It's his little sister's favorite doll. She gives him a furious look and he's quiet.

"And what exactly were you going to do with this?" She demands and he looks at the other boys- Zane is wide eyed, fearful of being caught, while Cruz is playing it cool, a miniature of his father Happy.

"Nothing." Rang tries for one last shot at innocence and when Brooke narrows her eyes, he finally admits the truth. "We were going to bury it in the backyard and make her look for it."

"She's 4." Brooke smacks him over the head with the doll, then follows in quick succession with the other two boys. "Outside, now. All of you. I cannot with you. I'm telling your fathers."

"Mom!" Zane protests but she glares at them murderously, pointing to the door and they slink out. She sighs, shaking her head, walking to Kalli's room and putting the doll back where it belongs. Then she grabs her cellphone.

"You've got to come get the boys." She says flatly, when Rat picks up.

"Kind of busy." He yells back, over the noise of what sounds like construction.

"I don't care." Brooke refuses to budge. "They're driving me crazy. I'm not in the mood to deal with them, do you understand? If you don't come get your sons, you will not have any."

"What did they do?" Rat asks, moving away from the noise.

"Caught them trying to bury their sister's favorite doll. She would've been devastated." Brooke sighs, pushing her hair back. "They're uncontrollable."

"They're boys." Rat tries to appease her, but it does the exact opposite.

"That doesn't give them a pass to act like assholes!"

"Alright." He snickers. "I see your point. Send them to the clubhouse, I'll have the prospects make them clean."

"Good." Brooke hangs up, sticking her head out the door and whistling sharply. The boys look up from trying to start a fire. "Go to the clubhouse. Dad's orders. No complaining. Do it."

"I told you it was a bad idea." Zane hisses at the older boys as they walk past.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Oh my god." Brooke resists the urge to smack them all. "What's harder, being married to a Son or raising them?"

(-)

"Brooke." Quinn stands in the doorway and Brooke looks up at him. "She's here."

"Who's here?" Brooke goes back to looking at Neva's homework, double checking the little girl's spelling test.

"Mandy." He tells her and her head snaps up.

"Here?" She looks at him in disbelief, pointing to the clubhouse. "Here, here?"

"Yeah." He shifts uncomfortably, a massive man looking suddenly small. "She says she's taking Lexi back and if I don't let her, she'll call the cops."

"Oh, hell no." Brooke sets down the pen and shoves past him, walking out of the office and into the main room of the clubhouse. There, Quinn's girlfriend Jaycee holds their two daughters, while the little girl in question, Lexi, is hanging onto Chibs, watching the woman in the middle of the room skeptically.

"Give me my daughter." She's ordering loudly. "Lexi baby, come here. Come here baby, come to mommy."

"You can get the hell out." Jaycee snarls.

"Shut the fuck up bitch, and take your brats somewhere else." Mandy snaps.

"Hey!" Brooke says loudly, striding into the room. It doesn't seem to matter that she's smaller than everyone else by a foot and a few pounds. "Mandy. You're not taking her. Get out."

"And you're one to tell me?" Mandy sneers. "You're nothing to me Brooke. You're just some white trash biker queen. Give me my daughter or I'll call the cops."

"Oh, is that the route we're going with?" Brooke asks, with faux niceties. "Because let's. Then they can see the track marks on your arms. What's in your purse? Let's check. And while we're at it, let's see if the guy that you claimed to get a restraining order is in the car down the street."

"I'm clean." Mandy declares and Brooke snorts.

"Yeah, and my pussy's the same as it was before three kids. Get the fuck out Mandy. Don't come back."

"Not without her." She points to Lexi, who buries her face in Chibs's shoulder.

"Yes, without her." Brooke takes a step behind her and the girl. "Or I will make your life living hell."

"Try." Mandy's lip curls up.

"Ok." Eyes flashing, Brooke stares her down. "1184. Hill Street." Mandy's face suddenly goes pale. "Oh, did you think I didn't know what happened there? How about I call the police on that? I'm sure they'd be really excited for that. Maybe the DA too. They'd make sure you never come within a state of that little girl."

"I had nothing to do with that." Mandy whispers.

"I'm sure I can find someone to say something different." Brooke threatens. "And if I can't, well maybe Lyla can. So you're going to sign custody over to Quinn, now. You're going to let Jaycee adopt her. And you're never, ever going to show her your face again, got it?"

"She's my daughter." Mandy protests weakly.

"And I don't give a fuck." Brooke says lowly. "Get out."

"I—" She tries but something in Brooke's expression stops her and so she quietly goes.

"Thank you." Quinn says in relief, resting a hand on his daughter's back.

"No one is ever taking you from us." Brooke coos to Lexi, kissing her shoulder. "Never ever."

"Anyone ever told you you're a little crazy?" Tig jokes and Brooke just grins at him.

(-)

"You're stressed." Brooke says needlessly. Rat is sitting in the president's chair in chapel, deep in thought.

"You know, if I never would've had you and the kids, I would've gone nomad." He says it without malice, just a hint of remorse.

"Why's that?" She asks quietly, leaning against the doorframe.

"Seemed like a good thing." He says thoughtfully. "Seeing the world. Not being tied down. I could've learned so much more."

"And you're thinking about that now because presidents of charters can't up and leave." She knows him well enough not to take this personally. He's still adjusting to his role as president, and her to queen. It's adjusting, for all of them.

"I could know more." He stares the gavel down intently. "I am going to make the wrong call."

"No you won't." She says quietly and he looks up at her.

"How can you know that?"

"Because you married me, didn't you?"

"Yeah." He can't help but chortle at that. "I guess I did."

"Exactly." Brooke moves so she's beside hi, resting a hand on his shoulder. "And you're the smartest man I know."

"That doesn't make me a good leader." He reminds her.

"No, but it's a start." She lets him get lost in his thoughts again.

"You know, I always thought I wanted this patch." He says suddenly. "I thought it was my goal. But now that I have it, I don't want it at all."

"That's pretty standard for you." Brooke teases and he begins to glare, then sighs and droops.

"I'm going to be absolutely awful at this Bee."

"No, you won't." She kneels, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at her. "You're a great leader Rat, and you deserve this. I know that you're questioning everything and that's ok. That's good. That will make you a good leader. I love you so much, ok? And so does everyone here. You wouldn't have that patch if they didn't believe in you having it. So it's ok to be scared. It's ok to be nervous. But you're going to have to be strong."

"What would I do without you?" He wonders and she smiles, kissing his nose.

"You'd never have clean socks. Now c'mon. It's late. I want to go to bed." She raises him up and he wraps an arm around her waist.

"You're going to make a great queen."

"I learned from the best." Brooke mutters, thinking of the woman who brought her into this.

 **AN:** So I don't know when this become an ode to Brooke but it did and I'm not sorry for it friends. (Also, this references FS,CS- go take a read if you haven't already!) Also, I'm uploading this with my new puppy on my lap named... Opie! Yes, I named him after my favorite character of all time, and no, no one has a clue. He's awesome and I just wanted to share. Ok, reviews?


	90. Season 7- Suits of Woe

_Jax's thoughts after Abel tells him_

Devastation. That's the only thing on his mind as his son drifts off to sleep. He's devastated, no matter what the outcome. If Abel is lying, then his son is twisted, trying to play some masterful game of pushing Gemma from him, out of their lives, for what? Because he misses Tara?

But if Abel is telling the truth, then that means his mother murdered his wife. His soulmate. Gemma, killing Tara. For a few long seconds, he can't even wrap his mind around. He puts up blocks. But as the night drags on and Abel sleeps, Jax begins to realize just how true this might be.

It fits, despite his every wish that it wouldn't. The Chinese never made sense. It never worked out. Why? They were settled. He figured it was Lin, acting out, desiring more money, more territory, whatever. But why would he? When things were so good?

And how much they'd denied it. He's murdered men, and they died with denial on their lips. He figured Lin just picked hardy stock, not likely to break, even under torture. He feels sick now, realizing just how innocent they'd been. How truthfully they'd spoken.

But how? How could Gemma do that? She loved Tara. She knew that Tara was the best mother for them. And the way that Tara was murdered, how brutal it was, that couldn't have been done by someone who knew Tara. It had to be gangland. Could Gemma do that?

Yes, a little voice in his head whispers. If she thought Tara was going to hurt the club. Hurt Jax. Take her grandsons. Gemma would've been left with nothing. She would've been devastated. She would've been out of her mind.

He wants to scream, to rage. All the signs are pointing in the right direction. Gemma had been the one to say Chinese, from the beginning. He'd believed her, in his haze of pain and grief. When things stopped lining up, he'd hardly cared.

And how eager she'd been to take the boys in. That hadn't surprised Jax. But she wouldn't let those boys out of her sight. She railed against sending Abel to school. How did she look them in the eye, knowing what she'd done? Or does she think, in her twisted world view, that she did the right thing?

God, the fallout of this. It's so enormous, Jax can hardly comprehend it. Tara was going to get his sons out. She was going to raise them up, happy and healthy. Gemma stopped all that. Halted it in it's tracks. And for what? For Abel to hurt himself? For Thomas to lose his mother, to be raised by Wendy and Brooke and Nero and Unser?

All the bodies that have dropped because of her. Jax runs though them like a movie in his mind, a highlight reel of death. Because of her, Bobby is dead. Bobby, a pillar of the club, didn't need to die. All because of Gemma.

He's filled with rage and sadness and wracked with guilt, but he's still in a state of shock. Disbelief. How could Abel comprehend this? How badly has Jax ruined him? His thoughts chase each other around in his mind and when dawn breaks, Jackson Teller hasn't shed a single tear, but he's filled with clarity.

* * *

 _Chibs's loyalty to Fiona_

"So who is she?" Jarry asks the darkness. She and Chibs are back to back, both pretending to be asleep. Chibs takes a deep breath, not rolling over.

"Kerrianne is my daughter." She'd taken notice of his tattoo the first time they had sex, but this time her nails had dug into it.

"No. Not her." Jarry's voice is still short, clipped, and he frowns to no one.

"Who?"

"The woman. The one that you think of when we're having sex. The one you're still in love with. The one that you're still loyal to." Jarry pulls away from him. "That's why you won't hold me after sex."

"You don't seem like someone that needs to be held love." He means it as a compliment, but also as a statement of fact. She's not one to cuddle.

"What's her name?" She's not letting this go, so Chibs sighs and rolls to face her. Even in the dark, he can see the outline of her, staring up at the ceiling.

"Fiona." Her name still feels like honey in his mouth. "Her name is Fiona."

"And who is she?" Jarry sounds half strangled.

"Kerrianne's mother." It's not a lie, and it's where he needs to start. "We met back in Ireland, when I was getting mixed up in shit there."

"Is that where she is now?"

"Aye, they both are." He says heavily. "They'll never come stateside. I've made my peace with it."

"And you love her. Still." It's not quite an accusation, but it's close.

"Aye." Chibs closes his eyes. "She was my first, and I her's."

"What happened then?"

"War, and a man called Jimmy-O." The words don't cause him as much pain as they once might have, but it still stings in his heart. "He set me up because he wanted her. So I was sent to SAMCRO for my own protection, and he took my girls for his own."

"She left you for him?" Jarry misunderstands.

"No." Chibs can't help but spit his words. "He took them prisoner."

"For how long?" A touch of horror has slipped into her voice.

"Years." He clenches the sheets in his fists. "Enough that my daughter spent more time being raised by him than me."

"I'm… Sorry." She at least has the decency to sound distraught. "I had no idea."

"Yeah." He rolls over, away from her. "I know you didn't."

"Chibs," She says, after a long pause. "Will you ever love anyone else?"

"I don't know." He says honestly. "I don't know if I remember how."

"Yeah," She whispers quietly, rolling back onto her side. "Me either." They fall asleep with a chasm better the two of them, neither willing to cross it.

* * *

 _"You take care of our boys."_

"Hey Jax." Wendy says tiredly, walking up to gravestone. "Hi Tara." The two stones are side by side, contrasting but complimentary. She likes that. It's a testament to who they were in life.

She doesn't visit them terribly often. Usually only when she's had a long day, and it seems like a safe place to go. Or when she's questioning everything and she needs some comfort. Since moving back to Charming, she's had that feeling less and less, oddly.

Today had been a long day. Filled with appointments of people trying to turn their lives around. Good things, mostly, but sometimes she invests too much of herself in their struggles. Makes it hard to not feel every success and failure personally.

She just needs space and time to clear her head. Do some reflection. The graveyard, with so many familiar names in it, provides that. She sits down between the two headstones, sighing heavily.

"Sorry I have't been around much. Shit's been a little crazy at work." She plays with the flowers that someone- probably Thomas, since they're daisies- placed on Tara's grave. "But things are good. Things are really good. And the boys, they're all good.

"Thomas is doing good in school Tara. So good. A lot of B's, and a couple A's. He's smart, but he just loves his sports. I think he should be an engineer. Got your brain like that Jax. Smart, logical, strategic.

"He's so handsome too. Man, you guys should see him. I think he'd bring home a different girl every break if he wasn't so busy with lacrosse. Even then, I hear about the flirting. He still tells me a bit.

"He broke his collarbone though. Last game of the season. Playoffs. God, that sound. Tara, I think you'd probably have handled it better. I about passed out. But he just laughed it off; wanted to play the rest of the game. He's crazy.

"I remember when he was a kid, broke his arm swinging off the roof of the barn. Oh, god, how I cried. Thought I was the worst mother in the world. I told Nero I broke Tara's son. You know what he said to me?" She shakes her head, laughing. "He said, 'Wendy, that's your baby now too. And he broke himself!' God, he always knew what to say to make you feel better, didn't he?

"Abel is getting to be like that. He's got your words Jax. I see him, writing little notes and things. It's amazing. I told him about you writing and he just laughed. Says the club tells him the same thing. God, he was ever your son, Jax, from the day he was born.

"I've been wrestled with him being SAMCRO lately. Thomas too. He's just been around the club more and more lately. Abel's patched, and sometimes I think about what the two of you would say. Would you understand? Would you hate it?

"I don't know. These are thoughts I haven't revisited in awhile. I think you'd see Abel. I think you'd see how happy he is. This is where he belongs, god, for better or worst. I only ever wanted what's best for him. That means SAMCRO.

"Thomas, he'll go on and do amazing things. No doubt. But Abel needs to be here. I don't know how long. I don't know how deep. But the club is different, it really is. It's shifted, and Abel's driving that change more than ever. It's ok. It's not the battle that cost us you two."

She rests a hand on each headstone and falls silent. Words aren't needed here. She needs some peace, some quiet. She sits, watching as the sun sinks down. She knows she should be thinking about the thousand things she has to do tomorrow, and the day after that.

But she doesn't. She sits, and reflects how grateful she is, for being here. For being alive, for having two strong, healthy boys. For surviving, despite it all. For sobriety. For family. For a home. She's well aware of the people that never got that much.

"I'm taking care of our boys." She whispers. She's never forgotten Jax's words to her. How touched she'd been to hear him call them that. Acknowledging that he gave her them.

She pats both headstones, dries the tears hovering in the corners of her eyes, and gets up. When she's walking out, she pauses to say goodbye to everyone, then gets in her car. The club is having supper at Brooke and Rat's, and she smiles as she heads that way.

* * *

 _The SON ring_

"Hey, c'mere." John coaxes Gemma out of the office.

"What?" She questions, somewhat annoyed. "I have to finish those bills John, or this whole place is going to go under. I don't even know how you've managed to stay afloat."

"Yes, exactly, you're the whole reason, so on and so forth." He pats her cheek. "And I adore and thank you. Now stop whining, I have something to show you."

"What?" She sighs, as she follows him into the clubhouse. To her surprise, it's empty, and spotless. "Holy shit."

"Gemma," John grabs her hands and she looks at him in mild alarm. "I have something to tell you."

"What?" She's panicking now, wondering what's going on, what could possibly have gone wrong, what is happening.

"I built this for me." He gestures broadly to the clubhouse. "I built it from the ground up, because I needed it. And it has been, without a doubt, the best thing in my life."

"I know." Gemma frowns, trying to figure out where he's going with this.

"But now there's you." He smiles and places a hand on her stomach. "And there's this little thing, whoever it is."

"A boy." Gemma mummers, smiling down at the tiny swell of her stomach. "It's gotta be a boy."

"Whoever. Whatever. It's my future." John looks up at her. "And you are too."

"John." A little startled, she tries to pull back, but he holds her fast.

"Gemma." He grins. "I love you."

"I love you too." She says automatically.

"That's why I wanted to give you this, here." He suddenly presses a heavy weight into the palm of her hand. She looks down, surprised. There sits a ring she's familiar with.

It's simple, stamped with 'SON' in gold and black. It's a little scuffed up, but she knows why. It usually sits on John's pinky finger of his left hand. It's one of the many rings he wears, but probably the only one that may fit on her fingers.

"What?" Her voice trembles, just slightly.

"I want to show you how much you mean to me." John is a little eager, grinning. "I wanted to show you how much I love you, in the place that means the most to me."

"Are you… Proposing?" Gemma demands, looking up at him in astonishment.

"Maybe." He looks a little unsure of himself. "What do you say? I didn't get you a big fancy ring. I thought this one would mean more. Did you want a fancy one?"

"No." Gemma says suddenly, throwing her arms around him fiercely and kissing him deeply. "No, this is perfect."

"Oh good." With relief, he slips it onto her finger and looks at it with pride. "I love you."

"I love you too." Gemma says a little distracted, already thinking about all the planning it takes for a wedding.

(-)

"We need to do something." Opie says loudly to Donna, seemingly uncaring that Jax can hear them. Not that it matters. He's lying in his bed, unable to move. He hasn't for a long time.

"What we need to do is purge." Donna declares, looking around Jax's messy room. "We need to get everything that reminds him of her out of here."

"Are you sure?" Opie looks skeptical.

"Yeah." Donna's already rummaging for a trashcan. "I've done it, so can you. Jax, sit up."

"No." His voice is hoarse from lack of use, so he puts up his middle finger so she gets to full force.

"Fuck you too. Sit up. Now." Donna orders and when Jax doesn't comply, she smacks Opie. He sighs and heaves Jax into an upright position.

"I don't…" He trails off tiredly and Donna pays him no mind, holding up a piece of paper with a scribbled note on it-

 _'I love you like you love your bike and dawn rides!'_

"Her?" Donna says sharply and Jax manages a nod. "Alright then." Into the trash it's tossed before Donna moves onto a little wood carving on Jax's desk. It's a rough thing, more of a misshapen blob than anything else. "Her?"

"No." Opie answers that for him. "Tommy."

"Alright." Donna puts it down, sparing it from a trash fate, moving onto the next object. "Her?"

Around and around the room they go, de-cluttering it of all the mementoes of Tara that remain. Jax weakly protests half of them, but gives up halfway through. It's not worth it. Finally Donna reaches an envelope. When she opens it, out slides the SON ring that had sat on Tara's fingers for so many years.

"That stays." Opie says instantly. "That's from JT."

"I don't want it." Jax says hollowly. "It's her's."

"No, it's yours." Opie gives him a sharp look.

"No." Jax turns his head away.

"Give it to me then." Opie snatches it and strides out of the room, heading to Gemma's bedroom. He knocks before walking in.

"Hey Op." Gemma looks up from folding clothes, worry apparent on her face. "How's he doing?"

"He'll be better in a bit." Opie says firmly, offering her the ring. "But you should keep this."

"Yeah." She mutters darkly, taking it. "Surprised she didn't take off with it."

"She wouldn't have done that." Opie says firmly. "But it's just a reminder for him."

"It shouldn't be." Gemma shakes her head. "This was his father's. It should be a prized possession."

"Let it lose Tara's memory first." Opie tells her and Gemma waits until he's gone to look down at the ring.

"We're all going to lose her memory." She declares under her breath.

(-)

Abel sits in his room, before leaping up and pacing. He's antsy, unable to sit still. Not uncommon for him, but annoying when he's got plenty of homework he could be doing. He should go for a run, or try to work this off, but he can't even get himself to focus for that long.

His mind is turning a hundred miles an hour, unable to slow down. He know what happens now. He's familiar with the patterns his mind falls into, becoming messy and distraught and complicated. So instead, he stands and reaches for a box on the top shelf on his closet.

It's small, carved. Nero got it for him on one of his travels, and now Abel uses it to keep his most treasured possessions, the few things a 13 year old boy can have. One though, is more important than anything else.

He pulls the ring out, turning it over in the palm of his hand a couple times. It still fits his fingers, though he wonders if when he gets older, it will become too small. Right now though, he slips it onto his middle finger and looks at it.

SON. Heavy, gold. It needs to be shined up, but it's exactly like he remembers it. For some reason, it provides him a sense of peace to wear it. A tangible connection to the past. He vaguely remembers the day his grandmother gave it to him. He's kept it secret from his mother ever since.

He sits down on his bed, twisting it, watching as the light catches and reflects off it. This belonged to his father. It belonged to him, and no one can take it from him. Anger is rising in him, like it usually does when he thinks about the first life Wendy won't speak on, tinged with frustration.

He doesn't dare wear it from more than a few moments, in his locked room, where his mother can't find it. He doesn't know if she'd take it, or just burst into tears at the sight of it. He doesn't want to find out.

He just wants answers. He just wants to know about his dad. He wants to wear this ring without fear. He wants so many things, and he punches his pillow with a muffled shout. Breathing heavily, he pulls the ring off, carefully setting it back in the box. He doesn't want to lose the one thing that ties him back to his past.

Then he pulls on his shoes. He needs to run, or he's going to burst from all that he feels.

* * *

 _"So you have it. When you become a member."_

Wendy waits until the door slams behind her before facing down the members of the club. It's been nearly two decades since she's seen some of them, and they look just as surprised by her appearance as she is.

"Wendy." Chibs is the first to speak. "Thank you for letting Abel come back to us."

"Not like I had a choice." Wendy is pacing. Now that her delight at seeing them all again is wearing off, the consequences are starting to overwhelm her once more. Abel, here. In Charming. With SAMCRO. He's said it was to get answers. Now it's seeming like a hell of a lot more.

"Abel's an adult, he can do whatever he wants." Rat reminds her and she looks at him sharply.

"Are you already forgetting why we left?"

"Why you took them out of Charming you mean." Chibs throws that low blow at her and she can't say she didn't expect it, but it still stings. "Wendy, you never once brought them back."

"What would I have done?" She demands. "Brought them back to what? Their mother and father's graves? The legacy of murder and bloodshed? I was protecting them. I am still am! He's not going SAMCRO."

"You don't much have a choice." Tig folds his arms, leaning back. "He's going to do what he wants."

"Are you all insane?" Wendy throws her hands up. "Jax died to keep these boys from this club! Are we all forgetting that? Or do you just not care?"

"Hey." Happy cuts her off. "We miss Jax too."

"When Abel came to us to talk about Jax, he said you had given him your blessing." Chibs says tiredly and Wendy realizes how much more haggard he looks, especially now.

"My blessing to talk, not to join." Wendy snaps. "I told him you'd give him the shit I can't talk about— that I still don't completely know. I didn't say he could get caught up in everything!"

"It's who he is." Quinn says seriously and Wendy droops.

"I know." She says quietly. "I'm trying to fight it. It's not what Jax would've wanted."

"You don't know that, not now." Tig rests a hand on her arm. "Abel wants family. Let us be that. Let him make his own choices."

"God." She presses the heel of her palms into her eyes. "I feel like Gemma."

"No," Tigs pats her head. "You're not that scary yet."

(-)

"Mom." Abel leans against the doorway to her room and Wendy looks up from her book. "Can we talk?"

"Well, isn't this a role reversal." Wendy jokes, scooting over on her bed to make room for him. "What, gonna tell me how the birds and the bees work?"

"God no." Abel shudders as he sits. "Exactly opposite."

"What's up?" Wendy tries to keep her voice natural, even if she has an inkling of what's to come. She can sense it, in the way Abel wrings his hands like he did once as a kid.

"I want to talk about Charming." He admits and she takes a deep breath. "Hear me out?"

"Ok." She struggles to keep her composure, folding her hands neatly in her lap and then hanging on for dear life. "What would you like to talk about?"

"I want to stay." He lays it out bluntly but Wendy can't stop her jerking reaction, reeling away from him.

"Absolutely not." Is her automatic reaction, but Abel doesn't get upset, he just sighs.

"Ok, hear me out. You promised." He reminds her and she nods mutely. "I know why you don't like it. I know about all the terrible shit you had to go through and all that stuff. I get it, I really do. I know the stories now. I understand."

"No you don't." She doesn't mean for it to sound so sharp, but she can't help it. "You will never understand it until you lose someone, and I will never let that happen."

"Mom," Abel takes her hands, fast losing his patience. "I'm an adult, remember?"

"And I'm your mother, remember?" She bites her cheek when he raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, actually, I do." He pats her hand. "And I'm grateful. But you know why I am the way I am, and you have to let me be that person."

"I don't want to lose you." Tears are welling up now and she doesn't bother to check them. "Not after it all. Abel, your father, he died to keep your from this."

"And I am not my father." Abel says firmly, letting the weight of his words sink into her. She falls silent, astonished. "And I won't make his mistakes. But this is my life. And I'm going to live, and die, by my own choices. I love you, and I will never repay you for all that you've done for me mom. Really. But now I have to go." He leans forward, kissing her head, before walking out of the room.

"God." Wendy buries her face in her hands and sobs, but she doesn't call him back.

(-)

He's not sure where to go first, so he's climbed to the highest point in all of Charming, on top of a cliff. He leans against his bike, contemplative. The air is brisk, chill, and he's glad for the thick sweatshirt he's got as the sun disappears back behind the horizon.

The kutte over the top helps, and he looks down at it, still somewhat surprised by it. He'd never really thought he'd seriously be wearing it, rocker and all. But he here is, patched and everything. Just like he's always wanted.

He thought about going to his father's grave, telling him first. He thought about calling his mother, or Thomas. He thought about taking a ride, all by himself, to let it sink in. Instead, he's done none of those things, sitting on top of a hill, brooding.

"Dad," He speaks to the air. "I'm sorry. I don't know if this is what you wanted for me. I don't know if this was the right choice for me, but I know I had to make it. I needed it. And I know what this club did. It destroyed our family, in the end. But I'm not going to make that mistake.

"I am your son. I hope you see that, I hope you know it. This is in my blood. I need this like I need air. I know you felt the same way. There is no other way to do this. I have to be here. I need it.

"And Tara, thank you. I know this isn't what you wanted either. You wanted me out. And I was. Wendy, she kept her promise, she raised us, kept us safe. But this is who I am. And it's who I'm going to be. I need this club. I need it. And I will make you proud, I hope.

"Grandma, I know this is what you wanted for me. I know this is what you pushed me towards. All these years and I've never forgotten it. But I won't make the same decisions as you, and I won't let anyone around me either.

"You all raised me as best you could, for as long as you could. And I am who I am today because of you all. And that's why I wear this kutte. Please be proud of me."

With that off his chest, Abel manages a smile, fingering the bottom of his kutte, and gets on his bike. He starts it with a roar, pulling back towards town. A Teller in a kutte on a bike, riding back into Charming.

 **AN:** Ok, sorry so much of it references First Son, Cursed Son, but I don't know, that's just the universe I live in I guess. Guys, we're almost done, and reviews are so amazing! Let me know thoughts?


	91. Season 7- Red Rose

_Wendy's house—Tara's house—Wendy's house_

Wendy looks around the little house, a little surprised. It's strange to see it again, with all the memories that are wrapped up in it. Some are good. Some are awful.

Jax had bought the house before they'd even started dating. Something about needing some form of separation from Gemma, he'd joked. When they were starting to get serious, if that's what they were calling it, she'd tried to make it look a less sparse.

She'd gotten pictures for it, some throw pillows for the couch. It wasn't like she was Martha Stewart, not by a long shot. She was a junkie, after all. But she'd made sure that Jax had more than one spoon, and bought him a loofa.

It was styled the Gemma way. Plenty of club shit, heavy metals, deep, rich fabrics, the whole nine yards. Wendy had just tried to make sure there were more tasteful items than posters of naked girls on bikes in the bedroom.

She never really dreamed of filling the house with kids. No, that had been Gemma and a lapse of judgement when it came to a condom one night. Abel as she had known him had never been here when this house was her's.

The house she stands in now is Tara's, no doubt about it. She'd repainted the walls. When'd she do that? When Jax was in prison, when she was raising two little boys by herself? God, the woman was super mom, Wendy admits ruefully.

It's lighter too, somehow. It's a house where a family was built, not where a drug addicted pregnant woman tried and failed to be worthy of her son and his love. Wendy doesn't mind that it feels like most of her traces have been scrubbed from the house.

It's a fresh start now. She doesn't change much. She doesn't need to. She's not going to erase Tara's memory, no, never. She doesn't even need to fight with it. She's at peace with things now. She's got a purpose.

She moves through this house and the memories tug at her mind. The couch where she'd often find Jax crashed asleep on, because he was too tired to make it to bed. Obie's photo on the fridge, reminding her of the day they moved in and he broke his finger when she dropped her dresser.

Abel's room. Thomas's room. She avoids the kitchen. The memories there have thorns. But mostly, it's home. A little house on a quiet side street in Charming, innocent from the outside for those that don't know. Wendy just knows that it's home, more than any other home she's ever had.

* * *

 _Nero's feelings on Gemma_

"Wine." Wendy says tiredly. "We need wine tonight, don't we? I'll go get glasses."

"Don't bother." Nero chuckles darkly. "We're just going to pass the bottle."

"Good point." Wendy disappears and comes back with a large bottle of red wine, pulling the cork out and offering it to him.

"Thanks." He takes a long pull and she sits beside him, both of them lapsing into a long silence.

"We ready to talk about it this year?" She asks finally, breaking their peace.

"Yup." Nero says heavily and Wendy nods, fortifying herself with another long pull of the wine.

"Alright, let's do it." She declares. It's the anniversaries of Jax's and Gemma's deaths, and Wendy and Nero typically commemorate them by putting the boys to bed, getting trashed together, sobbing, and passing out on the couch.

"Ah, fuck." Nero downs some more wine, then stares at the window. "Why'd it have to be like this Wendy?"

"I don't know. I don't know." She says honestly and he groans, rubbing his temples.

"I didn't want that for her." His voice cracks and Wendy rests her hand on his knee, nodding in encouragement. "You know? I told myself it couldn't be that bad. And fuck, I wanted to believe it."

"We all did." Wendy mutters. "We all really did."

"How?" Nero tugs his salt and pepper beard, gazing at the window like he can shatter it with nothing but his mind. "How could she do something like that, to Jax, to Tara, to them, to us? How could she be so selfish? Why was she like that?"

"She was Gemma." Wendy isn't try to figure it out herself. She is just a sounding board for Nero, that's how this works.

"It's not an excuse." He says miserably. "She can't have a pass. I can't excuse her for being a tiger mom, I can't say it was just who she was. She doesn't deserve that right. She needs to own up to her shit, and she's not here to do that."

"She faced judgement though." Wendy says, face falling. "Jax made sure of that."

"Yeah." Nero sighs heavily. "Yeah, she did. But that wasn't justice. That was just outlaw shit. She managed to hurt everyone in her death just like she did in her life. And is that the mark of a good woman or a terrible one?"

"She was both." Wendy muses. "You can't deny her that."

"No." Nero rests his head in his hands. "No, I can't. But how can I love her still and miss her so much, when I know what she did?"

"Because she's not here." Wendy reminds him. "So you can't hear her out, or tell her how mad you are, or possibly understand. Because we want to forget the bad and only think about the good."

"And things were good, weren't they?" Nero asks sadly. "They were really good. I really loved her Wendy, I loved that crazy woman with all I had. Jax too."

"I know." Wendy rubs his knee. "We wouldn't be here if you didn't."

"Raising her boys." He gives a humorless chuckle. "Seeing those boys she loved so much, it hurts a little, doesn't it?"

"Every damn day." Wendy mutters.

"I haven't forgiven her. Or Jax." He admits and Wendy nods at that. "I don't know how many years are going to have to pass before I can do that. Because I'm still so fucking angry at that both of them, for leaving us like this. It's not fair you know? It's not fair at all."

"No, it's not." She agrees.

"So fuck him, and fuck her." He states, downing more wine. "And fuck us, for being left behind."

"But we're still here." Wendy says thoughtfully. "We're still here."

"Yeah, that's true." Nero says seriously. "We're still here."

"So that's enough." Wendy declares, raising the wine bottle as a toast. "Right?"

"Maybe." A little skeptically, Nero joins her.

"It's gotta be." Wendy sighs. "Because we can't be anything else."

* * *

 _"It's Gemma. Your daughter." –why she confesses to Nate_

"My sidekick," He'd say it with a smile and such a bright twinkle in his eye, looking down at her. "My little shadow." That's what he'd call her, back when she was still young and innocent and utterly devoted to her father. When she would follow him around, attached to his hip.

She loved him in the purest sense of the word. There was just a bond there, one that was unshaken by anything else. Even as she got older and he did too, they were still inseparable. Rose never held a candle to Nate when it came to Gemma and her affections. It was comical to think of it any other way.

That was her only regret, when she left home. Knowing that the twinkle would turn to disappointment, and his face would fall. Him, tinkering in the garden, alone. No sidekick, no shadow. It broke her heart, so it was easier to forget it than try to face it.

But no matter who she became- from Gemma, to crow eater, to wife, to mother, to queen, from to Teller to Morrow and back again, she remained at her heart and core, his sidekick. She'd do anything for Nate, anything to put that twinkle back into his eyes.

He was the only one who ever understood her. Got why her dark and sharp edges seemed so much more jagged than everyone else. Why her temper was shorter, her wild streak wider. He was her daddy.

He once talked to her about unconditional love, about how Jesus and God loved them unconditionally. She didn't hold much stock in that. Love always came with strings. Rose loved her on her appearance, Gemma learned that young. But Nate's love was as close to unconditional as it could get.

He will still love her, no matter what. No matter how much she's wrecked, how much she's shattered and bent and broken and destroyed. Her soul is beyond repair, but Nate, somewhere, deep down in there, must remember. And he must still love her.

That's what she tells herself at least. She just needs someone to love her. In her last few hours on this earth, before god knows what, she just wants to feel love. That's all she's ever wanted, is love. Approval. She's always a little girl wanting her daddy.

It makes her feel better, thinking that someone else knows. Knows everything, knows it all. He doesn't understand that, she knows that for a fact. But he's a living breathing human, not a memory. Maybe it's for the best. He doesn't have his memories of her tainted.

She's trying to make her amends now, as the walls close in. She can't say sorry to Tara, to Bobby, to everyone. But she can with Nate. She can tell him all her regrets and mistakes, and maybe that will buy her just a little bit of goodwill back if there are pearly white gates.

Mostly, she needs to say goodbye. Parents shouldn't have to bury both their children. Gemma says her goodbyes, and leaves him in peace.

* * *

 _"Just let me finish my pie."_

The pie is pretty gross, actually. It tastes like cardboard, utterly artificial. But Juice doesn't really notice. He's too busy pretending to be somewhere, eating something else.

He's sitting in his grandmother's kitchen, and she's singing as she makes supper. He's watching her roll out the tortillas, slowly, with the skill of someone who has been doing this all her life.

In front of him is a plate full of sweet churros, her special treat. He's just finished school, acing his spelling test without hardly studying for it. She's kissing his head, telling him how smart he is. How far he'll go.

He eats the churros and they're perfect. Not too hot, but not cold yet. The brown sugar is rough on his tongue, dissolving after a moment. She's laughing at him, asking him if he wants some ice cream with that, but he shakes his head. The churros are enough.

The sunlight is filtering in, highlighting all the flour that's suspended in the still air. If he fills his cheeks with air and puffs, he can send it scattering through the light. The smell of the tortillas and chicken simmering makes his mouth water. Fajitas for dinner.

He's warm, and safe, and fed. He is loved, and wanted. He belongs. It's a simple thing, but he took it for granted when he was young, he realizes that now. Life will not always be such a cocoon of bliss.

He eats the pie slowly, savoring it. Not because he is scared. Not because he fears death. No, at this point he actively welcomes it. He suddenly understands Otto, in a way that he never thought that he would. Death isn't a punishment anymore. It's a release.

He just wants a few more moments of something good that he can hang onto. Nothing special. It's not the wind against his face when he rides on his bike. It's not the smell of his grandmother's cooking. It's not the feel of a warm body next to him, keeping him company. It's not sitting around a table with his brothers.

But it's all he has in here. Just one last good thing, to end this life on. That's all he wants. That's all he needs, really. Nothing grand or special. Nothing perfect. He just needs a moment, with a slice of pie.

He takes the last bite and draws his fantasy a little tighter around himself. He's not here, in prison. He is with her. He is in the light. He stays there, and doesn't lose sight of it, even as the darkness rushes towards him.

* * *

 _"It's who we are, sweetheart."_

 **Gemma**

She looks down at the essay in her hands, smiling and chuckling as she reads through it. She may have been young then, but she knew. Oh, did she ever know where she was going to go.

 _'I don't think anyone should be able to take our guns. It is our right as Americans to have guns. We can have guns because the law says that we can. The law is right._

 _I think we should get to keep guns in case anyone tries to hurt us. That way if anyone tries to hurt me I can stay safe. I think if everyone had a gun then we would all be safe._

 _My daddy has a gun. He says that if anyone came into our house and tried to steal stuff or hurt us he would shoot them. I like that my daddy has a gun because then no bad guys can come into our house._

 _When I am old enough, I want to learn to shoot guns. Then I will have one on me all the time so that I can shoot anyone who tries to hurt me._

 _I think if you get shot you deserved it. You were probably doing something bad and they shot you to stop you. If we didn't have any guns, how would we protect stuff?_

 _In conclusion, we should be able to keep our guns and no one should try to take them. Guns are good.'_

She was just a little girl then, who could so easily divide the world into black and white, right and wrong, good and bad guys, doling out justice to those who deserve it.

She knew it, back then. She fulfilled her predictions. Surrounded by guns, that's how Gemma grew up, without blinking or batting an eye. God, she probably would've died before giving up her guns on the whims of a government.

Irony, sweet irony. She smiles as she reads through her childish prose again, with it's short, silted sentences and formulaic composition. Young, but not stupid. No, she never was a writer. That was always Jax and John.

That's who she's been, always. Nature versus nurture, she supposes. She was raised a good, sweet, innocent Christian girl. But she was never destined to be any good at it. Still in grade school, and knew her place. With the guns, in the tussle.

There was never any fighting it then. No point in Rose and Nate's anguish, pain, and worry. Their devastation when she left home for bikers in bars. When she took her place next to John, brought Jax then Thomas into the world, and ruled over Charming like she owned it.

What matters to her? What's always matter to her? Protecting her family. Protecting herself. Protecting without remorse, without a second thought to consequences or cost. Fearless.

That's who she's always been.

 **Jax**

"Hey dad." He hangs on the back of his father's chair, watching as JT reads.

"Yes?" JT doesn't look up, just carries on reading thoughtfully.

"How many guns do you have?" Jax asks curiously.

"Why?" That makes JT look up from his book with a small frown.

"Cause we have a lot." Jax sits on the couch across from him. "How many are there?"

"What did you find?" JT asks, narrowing his eyes. He knows better than this, knows Jax better than this.

"Uh," Jax kicks his feet and avoids his father's eyes. "Nothing."

"Jackson."

"Mom left a box on the bed." Jax chances a glance at him. "It had a lot of guns in it."

"Damnit Gemma." JT puts his book down and heads into the bedroom, Jax trailing him. He pauses in the doorway, frowning when he notices the bed, neatly made and utterly absent of an guns. He glances back at Jax, who is back to avoiding his eyes. Then he looks into the closet, when guns are spilled onto the floor.

"I didn't mean to." Jax says, the instant JT spots the mess. "I was checking for presents!"

"You cannot being going through this stuff Jackson." He scolds. "One of them could've gone off. You could've been hurt!"

"Sorry." Jax bows his head, abashed. Grumbling, JT cleans up the guns, checking each one.

"Well, you're lucky. They all had the safety on." He tells Jax, who glances up.

"What's the safety?"

"It's the little lock that prevents the gun from shooting." JT beckons him over and Jax, wary of a spanking, comes slowly. JT shows him where the safety is. "So when that's on, it's safe to carry around."

"And when you take it off, then you can shoot?" Jax asks and JT nods, making sure the safety is on, before handing it to him.

"There. Hold it. See how heavy it is." He tells him and Jax hefts, with a look of awe on his face.

"It's big."

"Yeah, and that's a small one." JT chuckles. "Got it for your mom."

"Mom carries this?" Jax looks at it, surprised. "Where?"

"I'm not telling you." JT says, taking the gun and looking for it's case. "Do you want to shoot one?"

"Can I?" Jax looks at him, astonished.

"Sure." JT sets the gun in it's case and clasps it shut. "Come on, we can go practice. Good for you to see how scary guns can be."

They ride out to a gravel pit, where shells litter the ground and tattered practice targets flutter in the wind. JT takes the gun out, checks the safety again, and then hands it to Jax.

They spend the afternoon covering the basics. The components of a gun. Safety on, safety off. How to reload. Where the trigger is. How to hold it. Where to aim. What to expect. JT walks Jax through all of it, until he can hold the gun comfortably in his hands.

"Can I shoot now?" Jax asks eagerly and JT kneels in front of him.

"You can when you understand this." He says seriously and Jax is quiet, listening intently. "Bullets can kill people son. You don't take this lightly. You don't make this into a joke or a show. This isn't something to play with, ever. You're too young to understand consequences right now, but I want to teach you how to handle this without hurting someone. Got it?"

"Got it." Jax nods solemnly and JT nods, clapping his back.

"Ok, stand like I told you. Little wider. There. Safety on? Ok good. One last check, see anything that might be hurt if you shoot? No, ok, safety off. There you go. Finger, trigger. Deep breath. Aim, that's the most important part, right? Ok."

Jax shoots and JT is surprised to note that he hits the target. Even more surprising is that every shot after that, Jax hits. When he's finally out of bullets, he carefully puts the safety back on, then turns to JT, beaming.

"Can I reload it and try again?"

"Sure." JT blinks down at him. "Did you see that you hit it?"

"Yeah." Unbothered, Jax grabs the box of ammo. "Is that good?"

"Yeah, it is." JT swallows his disbelief, supervising Jax's reload. "You're pretty good at this."

"Thanks," Jax's attention is back on the gun. "It's fun."

"You're a natural." JT praises, unsure why that causes such a feeling of dread in him.

 **Abel**

He wakes up to his alarm clock, yawning as it goes off, blinking himself awake. The sun streams through the windows and he groans, wishing he could spend just ten more minutes amongst his soft sheets. But not today. He gets up, ambling towards the bathroom.

He pees, brushes his teeth, and carefully massages beard oil into the patchy blonde hair on his face. He wants a nicer beard. Then he heads to his room to get dressed, pulling on boxers, socks, jeans, and a tee-shirt.

He swings his kutte on, then his knife and his gun. It's an easy thing for him, tucking his gun in the small of his back. It sits right there, easy for him to grab, a reassuring weight. He likes it where it is.

He rides into the clubhouse, grinning at the sight of everyone slumped around, recovering slowly from their hangovers from a wild night of partying. He kicks Rat in particular.

"Good morning sunshine." He says brightly and Rat glares at him.

"Fuck off."

"Did I miss a hell of a party?" Abel wonders, ducking the empty beer bottle that T.O. launches at his head. "Aw, sorry."

"Shut up." Tig orders, getting off the couch and groaning. "Shut the fuck up."

"Don't we have stuff to do today?" Abel asks innocently and then has to dart away from a vomiting Rat.

They ride to Lodi, all of them in various stages of recovery. Abel rides with, laughing and grinning. This is amusing for him. When they arrive for the meeting, he applauds them for not vomiting on the highway.

"I fucking hate you." Ken mutters, while Piper groans.

"I didn't host that damn thing." Abel reminds them. "I didn't pour drinks down your throat."

"Don't fucking gloat." Tig glares and Abel smirks, but is quiet.

The deal goes well enough, until there's accusations of double crossing, ratting, and the like. Guns are drawn, and Abel is right there with the rest of them, his glock out and trained on the gang leader, finger steady on the trigger.

"Alright, let's calm down." Chibs orders. "Weapons down boys, c'mon." Slowly, they lower.

They talk it out, and eventually they all walk away intact, never firing the gun. But that doesn't matter to Abel. It's never mattered to Abel. He grins at them all, making jokes and jabs at their expense. They do the same back.

Wearing a gun has always came easily to him. It doesn't make him pause, or fear. It's like his kutte. He never quite sat right without it, and now that he has it, losing it would feel utterly wrong.

 **Thomas**

He's fast asleep, next to his girlfriend, when the breaking of glass startles him awake. Andrea, next to him, sits up with a gasp.

"What was that?" She demands.

"Nothing." Thomas tries to push her back down into the bed while also reaching for the small pistol he keeps in the nightstand. "Go back to bed."

"That sounded like someone breaking in." Andrea states, clutching the blankets.

"I got it." Thomas shushes her. "Stay here."

"Like hell I am." Andrea throws the covers off. "I've seen horror movies."

"Andrea." He says, exasperated. She puts her hands on her hips and fixes him with a stern glare. "Oh, Jesus Christ, ok, come on then!"

"Let me stay behind you." She trails him as he pads out into the hallway, then slowly down towards the stairs. The landing below is shrouded in darkness and he goes still, listening. Waiting. There's more scuffling and Andrea gasps.

"Shush." He warns her and she puts a hand over her mouth, nodding. After she's quiet, he nods and slowly starts descending the stairs, head on a swivel. The noises keep coming, this time from the kitchen.

"Oh god." Andrea breathes. "Is someone robbing us?"

"Shush!" Thomas repeats, looking at her incredulously and she obediently falls silent, pressing herself against his back. He edges around the door, quickly gaging the situation.

The gun goes off and Andrea screams, pressing herself flat against the wall across from him. After a few shocked seconds following the bang, they stand in darkness. Then Andrea finds the light switch and throws it, gasping.

"What the fuck?" She demands, looking at him. Thomas is carefully putting the safety back on the pistol.

"Sorry babe." He apologizes casually. "Hey, go grab some bleach. We need to clean up the blood."

"Thomas!" She screeches and he glances at her.

"What?"

"Did you just fire a gun? In the house?" She's shaking, so he reaches out and takes her shoulder, steading her.

"Hey, hey, you ok?" He demands and she shakes her head.

"Did you… Kill… It?" She refuses to look.

"Oh, yeah." Thomas glances over her shoulder. "Babe, the raccoon had rabies. I had to shoot it before it could bite us."

"Did you have to do it inside?" She demands, sucking in air.

"Well, I didn't want it to escape." He says, nonplussed and she rubs her temples.

"Where did you learn to shoot an animal in the dark, with a tiny ass pistol, in a kitchen?" She questions and he's quiet for a long time.

"My… Family." He says carefully.

"Like Abel and Wendy?" Andrea clarifies. "Or the other family?"

"Other family." He hasn't told her a lot about the town he considers home, that he visits infrequently, that he's yet to bring her to. "They taught me to shoot. Turns out I'm pretty good at it."

"Pretty good?" Andrea gestures to the dead animal. "That's not pretty good, that's amazing! That's abnormal! You're like a freaking sniper! How'd you get that good?"

"If you think I'm good, you should see Abel." He mutters, smiling slightly to himself. "I beat him last time though, he wasn't happy with that."

"You're a giant fucking mystery." Andrea shakes her head. "I don't know how to figure you out."

"That's fine." Thomas kisses her head. "I'll clean this up then. You go back to bed."

"I can't sleep now!" She snaps. "I'm in shock."

"Oh, now you're being dramatic." Thomas rolls his eyes. "You're fine. It's just a gun."

"And burglar raccoon! And sniper boyfriend! And all this!" She waves her hands around. "God, knowing you is like reading everything third page of a book. I'm missing so much."

"My family is really good with guns." He tells her, grabbing a garbage bag. "What else is there to know?"

"Infuriating." Andrea shakes her head. "And keep that gun away from me, you know those scare me!"

 **AN:** You. Guys. We are so close to the end? How? Wow. Thank you for all the amazing support - leave a review on the way out, before it's too late, and tell me your favorite part!


	92. Season 7- Papa's Goods

**AN:** Wow guys. This is it. The final episode. I've been working on this for two and a half years, from inception to completion. It's been an amazing run with all of you, and I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for you all following along on the longest story I've ever written! Without further ado... Papa's Goods.

* * *

Gravestones _of all_

 **Gemma**

No one is left to plan her funeral. No one is there to pick out her flowers, or sing a hymn over her. With no children left to declare her wishes, Gemma defaults to what she had planned long before all of this chaos.

She's buried in the same cemetery as Rose and Nathanial, laid to rest in the plot beside them. Her father will join them when his time comes. Her headstone is simple and dark, with just the dates of her life, her name, and the titles she bore in life.

 _'Gemma Rose Teller. Daughter, wife, mother.'_

 **John**

John had never really wanted to be buried with the other soldiers. It hadn't been important to him, not really. He wasn't someone who was defined by his service, who felt the need to boast on it. It was simply another box of his life, now taped shut and shelved.

It was Piney who made the call to bury him there. He wanted him honored correctly. He wanted the country that turned their backs on him to respect them, even if only in death.

His stone may be amongst his fellow soldiers, but all it's hallmarks are for his fellow Sons. The reaper, watching over him, even in death. The quote, so perfect to describe him. John Thomas Teller, the man, the myth, and the legend.

 **Clay**

Nothing for him. No crypt. No massive tombstone. Nothing to make him seem as important in death as he was in life. All he is here is another prisoner, dead and forgotten, lost to time.

No one lays flowers at his grave. No one will journey there, lay some sort of SOA memorabilia, and bow their heads to pay their respects. No one will pour a glass of whiskey out for him.

All that mattered in Clay Morrow's life was his club, and the power that he wielded within it. Now, for the rest of eternity, that legacy has been erased, replaced by the hubris of man, and how it cost him everything.

 **Tara**

She's buried in the same place as her mother and father, which would like have made her pull a face. But she's closer to Donna and Opie, just like she was in life. It's a peaceful place. That, at least, is fitting.

But of course, she never outlived Gemma. She didn't get the last word. Gemma did. That's evident in everything about Tara's final resting place, from the location to the headstone.

Of course it's close, in Charming. Tara never would've wanted be buried. Spread her ashes on the wind, and let her be free for the last time. Instead, she gets a headstones engraved with flowers, the symbol of Gemma, and her last name is void of what she'd earned in the last years.

 _'Tara Grace Knowles'_. Not Teller. ' _Devoted wife and mother'_. Not dedicated doctor and tremendous friend. Gemma controlled everything, down to the very end.

 **Jax**

After it's all said and done, Chibs still chooses everything. He does it in defiance of what the other clubs might say. Jax was his president, and his brother. A friend. He may have met Mr. Mayhem, but SAMCRO will give him the funeral he deserves.

They lay him to rest beside Tara, just behind Opie. A good place for him, between the two people he loved utterly and truly. It's fitting, and they hope that Jax himself would've approved.

The headstone in simple, understated. White, glistening in the sun. It reads the day he was born, the day he died, and his full name. ' _Jackson Nathanial Teller'_. Chibs chose a line that rang true to him. ' _The Pride of your Family and Name'_.

Fitting for the prince, then the king. A reaper is carved into it, the last bit of defiance to any other charters. The reaper will carry Jax into death.

 **Bobby**

He's buried behind the cabin, amongst the trees. Fitting, since that was where he enjoyed spending so much time. Playing guitar, smoking a cigar, reading, or simply sitting in silence, appreciating nature.

They get a massive boulder, and place it where he rests. No name. No dates. The way Bobby would've wanted it. Private, peaceful. The sunlight filters down through the trees and the wind sighs.

Often, a beer or some whiskey will be left atop the rock. Guitar picks, an occasional cigar, and more join it all for a makeshift memorial. Anyone who stays in the cabin knows that Bobby is close by.

 **Juice**

He never gave real thought to where he was going to be buried. Young people rarely do. He was invincible. The reaper was never going to touch him. Even when he knew that his demise was inevitable, he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

So when he's killed in prison, with no family left to claim his body and a club that turned their backs on him, Juice becomes just another nameless criminal, chewed up and spat out by the system.

A simple wooden casket, a tiny stone amidst the others who remain unclaimed. Initials, not his full name. Or his nickname, which would've fit him even better. No dates to tell how long he lived. Just his prison ID number, should anyone care to look him up in the future.

But no one will.

 **Opie**

He died for his club. He sacrificed everything, for SAMCRO. So when Jax has to bury his best friend, he does it in the only way he knows how. He honors him with all the trappings of the club.

An oversized headstone, to represent the larger than life person that Harry Winston was. His nickname, because all those who knew him, knew him as Opie. That seems fitting.

His birth. His death. A large reaper, to remind everyone just who he was. A Son, pure and true. The words, chosen by Jax, trying to encompass who Opie was in such a short few characters. If it was up to him, Opie would have a wall extolling his virtues.

 **Donna**

Gemma picked out her headstone. Of course she did, because Gemma was ruler and queen of all the girls. Donna's family had no say, and Opie was too devastated to make a choice.

Gemma chose to put a picture of her on there, to remind everyone of her beauty. She died young, and Gemma doesn't want her children to think of their mother, murdered so violently. She wants them to see the good things. The beauty.

The word under her photo is simple. ' _Beloved_ '. That's what she was, to everyone. Her friends. Her family. Opie, her children, to everyone. It fits her the best. She was too young to die, in such an awful way, but Gemma tries to right it in death.

 **Unser**

Broke and alone, that's what Unser was at the very end of it all. He'd made arrangements for his death back at the very beginning of his cancer, before he'd pushed his real family away for SAMCRO.

The arrangements are still in place. He's cremated, per his wishes, and his ashes in a simple urn. It's mailed to his family, and they can do with him what he wishes. He gets no headstone.

Instead, a small plaque is installed on the wall of the police station. It reads _'Wayne Unser. Police Chief. Dedicated to the protection of all.'_ The cops that pass it either know nothing about the man, or they know all too much.

 **Piney**

The pristine white stones have another added to their ranks. Piney is no longer Piney but Piermont Winston, a dutiful solider. He takes his place amongst the neat rows, surrounded by those who served.

He gets his name on it, and his rank. None of those things mattered to him, not really. The symbol over his name may be a cross, but the reaper emblem is also emblazoned on there, just like John's.

His quote, however, is chosen by Opie. _'If this is the price to be paid for an idea, then let us pay.'_ He rather thought his father, drafted and used for the government who never gave a second thought to the lives they ruined, would have approved of such a tongue in check reference to anarchy.

* * *

 _John's boots_

He knows he's got them in his closet somewhere. Jax rummages through it, searching. He remembers placing them here, ages ago, when he first moved and hauled boxes after boxes into the house.

John Teller's boots. He always had the same kind, dark and clunky and usually scuffed and worn from wearing and riding in them, every day. Jax had always liked sneakers. Thought biker boots were too old school.

John had died in these boots. They'd been set aside, along with all the other personal items, at the hospital. Jax had stared at them all for a long time, a young boy who lost his father.

Sons had came and taken items, presided over by a watchful Gemma. Some took bits of clothing. Piney took his kutte so that John could be laid to rest in it. The first 9, those remaining, took the rings, the bracelets, the necklaces. Jax took the boots.

He knows they're in here. Somewhere. He moves aside a box containing years, and there they are. Sitting on the top shelf, as dusty and broken in as Jax remembers them.

He brings them down, looking them over. A wave of memories passes over him, of his father on his bike, his father coming home, his father at the clubhouse. Jax holds the boots and remembers.

Today he doesn't want to be the Jax Teller he has been for so long. The one who kills and brings chaos wherever he goes. For today, he wants to be the son that lives up to what his father would've wanted for him.

He throws his sneakers away and sits down, pulling the boots on. To his surprise, and slight amusement, they fit. They fit well. The boy that took these shoes from his father's bedside never could've fit in them. Now he does.

* * *

 _Notebooks that survived_

"Hey, what are these?" Abel asks, hauling a large box into the new clubhouse. Rat, at the bar, gestures for Abel to come his way and show him. Abel sets it down.

"Where'd you find all this stuff?" He asks, flipping through them. It's old photographs, things from rallies in the 90's, and other random things.

"The old storage unit." Abel explains. "Quinn thought there might be old vintage stuff there."

"Huh." Rat shrugs. "Go dump it out on the table, see if you find anything interesting. The girls are hanging stuff upstairs, take it up there."

"Got it boss." Abel says, proceeding to the table. He carefully shakes stuff out, brushing through it. A couple little brown notebooks spill out, and he disregards them, more interested in the other items.

He finds old signs, grinning and heading upstairs with them. The girls are in the midst of decoration everything, snatching them away from him and debating which dorm room they should put them in. Abel leaves them to it, heading back downstairs to clean up his mess.

He's about to throw out the random items- some old paint brushes, a couple random paintings of landscapes that haven't aged well, when his gaze falls back on the notebooks. Curious, he picks them up, wondering what's inside- grocery or to do lists, someone's notes from a long forgotten meeting, accounting stuff.

 _'JNT, 2009.'_

He looks at the front cover with a slight frown, trying to comprehend what the initials and dates are. Then he opens it to the first page and begins to read the neat handwriting.

 _'It is both a comfort and a nuisance to know exactly where you belong. You may never suffer a crisis of belonging, wondering who you are, what you're meant to do on this earth, so on and so forth. But it can also feeling stifling, like you are boxed into a corner and all you are is what others expect you to be._

 _That is my life. Gemma laid my path before I was even born. She's my mother, she means well. But what else could I have been, if I wasn't the prince? An engineer? An actor? A politician, like Tara thinks I would be so good at?'_

Abel slams the notebook down, breathing heavily. He checks a glance at the next one, startled to see the same initials and dates on it as well. Both are filled with the neat writing.

"Rat." He slams the notebooks back are the bar. "What are these?"

"Notebooks." Rat glances at them. "I dunno."

"No." Abel is trying not to tremble, but he can't help it. "Look, at the initials. JNT. Are these my dads?"

"Oh, shit." Rat finally stops organizing glasses and picks up one notebook, thumbing through it. "Yeah, Abel, they might be… Jax always had one of these. He'd be writing, during his downtime. But they disappeared when he died."

"There were more?" Abel demands and Rat nods, still looking a little astonished.

"Yeah, dozens. He had boxes of them. These… They must've been in the old clubhouse, the one that was destroyed. Someone must've thrown them in the storage unit." He looks at Abel, lost for words.

"Do you think there's more?" Abel asks, heart pounding. His father's writings. Something to tie him to his father, to let him know who the man really was.

"Shit, maybe." Rat rubs his face. "They could've gotten lost or thrown out in the moves, but the storage unit might be a good idea."

"Thanks." Abel tucks the two notebooks in his kutte, promising to savor them later, when he's alone and can appreciate the words. "Can I go look?"

"Take all the time you need." Rat says seriously and Abel runs for his bike, elated.

* * *

 _Tig and dolls_

"Grandma," He says quietly, playing with the peas on his plate. "Do I have to sleep there tonight?"

"Where?" She asks brusquely, not looking up from the crossword she's doing.

"In the pink room." He kicks his feet, avoiding eating. "I don't like it."

"Don't like what?" She asks, still distracted by the crossword.

"The room." He thinks about the pale, sickly pink walls. The lace coverings on everything, including the windows. The scratchy sheets, stiff and unused. None of that compares to the most terrifying aspect of it though.

Every surface, from the vanity to the dresser, to the bookshelves, to trunk beneath the window, is covered with dolls. Dozens of them, in all shapes and sizes, all mediums. He hates it, hates that they watch him while he sleeps.

"That's where you sleep." She says shortly.

"I could sleep on the couch." He offers, having thought this out. "Or the floor. I don't mind."

"No." She says flatly, taking another bite of her potatoes and filling in another line of the crossword. "You sleep in beds."

"But the dolls." He protests and she finally looks up, blue eyes flashing. He falls silent instantly.

"That is where you sleep." Her words are clipped. "Be grateful. Some kids don't have beds." With that, she turns back to her crossword and he knows better than to try and fight now, so he falls silent, like always.

When he finishes his meal, he rinses off his plate, washing and drying his fork. His grandmother, without saying a word, disappears into the living room to watch her nightly TV. He gets himself bathed and ready for bed, brushing his teeth in a vain attempt to delay the inevitable.

When he hears the TV shut off, he darts for the bedroom. Best to pretend he is asleep. That way he avoids a spanking. He eases the door to the room shut and scrambles to get under the covers. He lays perfectly still as her steps creak past his door and finally into her own bedroom.

Only then does he open his eyes, looking out in terror. Hundreds of eyes look down at him, vacant and unseeing. The dolls press down on him and he struggles to control his breathing, but he can't leave the bed. That's a far worse punishment than this.

He tries to close his eyes, get some sleep, but the terror is too great. All he can picture is the dolls, coming for him, strangling him in his sleep, smothering him, their tiny faces screwed up in rage. He curls himself in the fetal position and tries to block it all out.

* * *

 _"So they don't become what I've become."_

"Did your ass get lost?" Thomas demands, laughing and Abel rolls his eyes, putting the kickstand for his bike out and getting off.

"Maybe if you didn't pick such a backwoods place to meet, my GPS could've found it." He shoots and Thomas roars with laughter, embracing him.

"It's halfway." He insists and Abel rolls his eyes, clapping his little brother on the back.

"Halfway my ass. You drove what, 2 hours? We drove 6."

"Yeah, and how much of that is because you got lost?"

"At least 3." Willow emerges from the car, grinning and Abel gapes at her.

"You're my wife. Be on my side."

"I always am." She says innocently, opening the doors. A young girl, 8 or 9 years old, with bright blue eyes and long blonde hair, sprints out, yelling,

"Uncle Tommy! Uncle Tommy!"

"Uff, hi pumpkin." Thomas catches her, lifting her up. A young boy, with sandy hair and blue eyes, follows a little slower, while Willow grabs the baby carrier from the car.

"Auntie Andie!" The little boy yells, waving, and a heavily pregnant woman waves back from the picnic table where she sits with a little girl, who's coloring.

"I'm glad we could do this." Willow says, kissing Thomas's check. He beams, wiggling his fingers at the little girl sleeping in the carrier.

"Yeah, we missed you guys." He takes the carrier from her. "Come on, we should catch up."

The two brothers and their wives sit, watching as their children play together, splashing in a nearby creek. They remark on how big they're getting, how much Anna looks like her mother, how Felix acts just like Abel.

They talk about work, and Willow eagerly talks about going back to work, getting out of the house with kids once again. Abel informs them that the club is good, and the garage is doing well. Andrea talks about wanting to expand her interior design business, and Thomas laughs, recounting stories of clients.

Then their conversation turns, as it so often does, to their past. Abel remarks on how many years it's been since their father's death. Thomas professes his wish that their mother Tara be there to see what they've done.

They make lunch, and Andrea and Willow discuss newborn babies, and promise to swap clothes and furniture. Thomas and Abel set up the camper, bickering with each other on how to do it. Willow and Andrea laugh, scolding when they swear in front of the kids.

Two brothers, different, but sharing the same blood. Both with their own marks and scars, both still standing. Willow tells Andrea a comment Wendy had made, last time she'd seen both boys.

"They're so much and nothing like their father at the same time. I think he'd like that."

* * *

 _Wendy's reaction to Jax's suicide_

"God, this is great." Wendy smiles up at the sunlight streaming down onto the deck. The boys are playing the sandbox off to their right, Abel nicely sharing his toys with Thomas. "I'm so glad you talked us into staying for another couple days."

"Yeah." Nero is still troubled, looking down into his lemonade. "Hey, how you feel about staying, you know, for the long haul?"

"What do you mean?" Wendy glances at him. "Like living here?"

"Yeah." Nero fiddles with his hands. "I mean, I know we talked about it a little. But the boys, they love it here. Wouldn't be too much to get them enrolled at the school. It'd be good."

"It'd be great." Wendy agrees. "But Gemma and Jax, they want the boys in Charming."

"Yeah." Nero hides his heavy heart. "They did."

"What?" Wendy catches the wording, before her cell phone rings. "Oh, I wonder if that's… It's the sheriff." She looks up at him.

"Put it on speaker." He encourages, already knowing what's happening. He needs to hear it.

"Hello?" Wendy answers with the phone on speaker, setting her glass aside and watching as Thomas drives his dump truck over Abel's sand hill.

"Ms. Wendy Case?" The voice on the other end is cool, detached.

"Yeah, that's me." Wendy frowns, glancing at Chibs. "What can I do for you?"

"You were listed as the emergency contact for both Gemma and Jax Teller."

"Yeah?" Wendy sits up a little straighter.

"Ma'am, Gemma Teller was murdered a couple nights previously. Her body was identified by a Filip Telford." The glass slips from her fingers. "And Jackson Teller was involved in an automobile accident. The bike he was riding crashed into an 18- wheeler. I'm sorry, but he was pronounced dead yesterday."

"Oh god." Wendy nearly drops the phone, folding over so her head is between her knees. "Oh, god, no."

Nero takes the phone from her, tears streaming down his cheeks. Even if he was ready for this, he wasn't truly ready to have all his suspensions confirmed. He answers the questions, until finally everything is taken care of, and he can hang up. Wendy is looking at him, stunned.

"Wendy," He tries, but she shakes her head.

"You knew." She croaks. "You knew. He told you, didn't he? That's why you brought us here. That's why he let us go. That's why- God!- he was acting so weird. Is he dead? Nero, is he really dead?"

"Yeah." His mouth is dry. "Yeah, he is."

"God!" Wendy wails, breaking down in fresh sobs. Abel, listening, grabs Thomas's hand and carefully helps guide him back to the porch. "God, Jax. Gemma! Oh god, Nero, oh god…"

"Mommy?" Abel asks quietly and Wendy looks at him like she's suddenly seeing him for the first time. With a chocked sob, she pulls both boys close and rocks them, shuddering with her sobs. "Why are you crying Wendy?"

"Because baby," Wendy buries her face in Thomas's shoulder. "I'm sad."

"Why?" Abel questions, looking at her quizzically.

"Because sweet boy," Wendy takes a deep breath. "I am scared. But you go play, ok? I gotta talk to Nero."

"Ok." Abel looks skeptical but leads Thomas back to the sandbox.

Wendy throws herself into Nero's arms, sobbing, until both of them don't have any more tears to shed. Then, in a hoarse whisper, Wendy asks,

"How do I raise them alone?"

"Jax made arrangements." Nero is stroking her hair, as much to comfort him as it is to comfort her. "He had it all planned out. He didn't go into this blind Wendy. You have custody, you have the houses and the shop. You can sell it. Stay here."

"Oh my god." Wendy covers her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. "We're not going back. I am never taking them back."

"Never?" Nero looks at her in surprise and Wendy begins pacing, shaking her head.

"No." She's trembling with anger. "No, that placed killed everything. Everyone! Donna, Opie, Piney, Gemma, Tara, Jax, Bobby, god, everyone. No, Jax wanted them out. That's why he did this, isn't it? So they can get out."

"Yeah." Nero watches her sadly. "Yeah, I think that was his plan."

"I have to honor that." She says firmly. "I have to. It's what he would've wanted. Tara too. This is the best thing for these boys. I have to do what's right for them. What's best for them."

"Wendy, when are you going to tell them?" He asks softly and Wendy's tears are gone, replaced now with a steely look.

"Later. When Abel wants to go home. I'll tell him no. Not now, not ever. I'll go back this weekend. I'm packing their stuff. A realtor can sell the damn houses, I don't care." Her eyes are flashing. "I'm not letting murderous Charming ever touch those boys again."

"Wendy, you just found all this out." He says gently. "Shouldn't you take some time, comprehend it?"

"No." She says flatly. "Nero, don't you see what this is? It's Jax's final wish. I'm going to keep it, because no one else could. I'm going to handle it."

"I know that." He says quickly. "I know, and you're very capable, but Wendy…"

"Nero," She clasps his face. "I am going to break down and cry myself to sleep tonight. I am going to bawl my eyes out and wish that I could shoot up and take away my pain. And you're probably going to do the same, I'm sure. But right now?" She points to her sons. "I'm going to do whatever I have to keep them safe."

"I know mama." He looks at her with respect as she squares her shoulders and dries her tears. "I know."

* * *

 _I-580_

Abel sits on his bike, looking up at the rock wall. It's became a sort of pilgrimage for him, to come up here before big decisions. It's where he talks to his grandfather and father, more often than their graves.

He came up here for the first time a few months after he'd decided to go into the club. He'd avoided it. Tellers and I-580 never seemed to mix. But now, it's like a holy site to him. It provides him with a sense of peace.

 **JT, 11-13-93.**

 **Jax, 7–23-14**

Both are engraved on the wall, standing the test of time, though Jax's is far less faded than JT's. Abel reaches out, touching both, then the anarchy symbol that so defines their last name.

"Hey," He says quietly. "I miss you both. I wish you were here. I wish you could see what we are. What I am. I wish that I could know if you're proud."

He knows they are. People tell him all the time. He's the next Teller, smarter and better than his father before him, and his grandfather before that. That's why he wears the president's flash. That's why he runs a strong club. That's why he loves his family.

He talks a little longer, just needing to talk some stuff through. When the sun begins to set, he straps his helmet on and places his hand on the markings once more. He'll be back, he knows he will. Not tomorrow, or the day after. Maybe not for a couple weeks, or months. But he'll be back, the next time he needs them.

Then he gets on his bike, taking a deep breath as he urges it up to speed. When he gets to that sweet spot, when his body and the bike are one, he grins up at the sunset.

A blue sky, a setting sun, the trees rippling in the breeze, birds soaring overhead, and a Teller in a kutte, roaring past.

 **AN:** Oh man, gonna get emotional. I cannot say thank you enough to everyone who has read and reviewed and sent me messages and everything. It would not have been done without you. All I can say is leave a review on the way out, and know that I treasure every single word of them. From me to you, thank you. It's been a hell of a ride.


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